


Unrestrained

by Lizzy0305



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Animagic, Emotional Infidelity, Falling In Love, First Time, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Instabil Magic, M/M, Multi, Powerful Harry, Powerful Severus, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2020-01-24 13:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 105,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18572542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzy0305/pseuds/Lizzy0305
Summary: After the war, Harry thinks he’s living the perfect life with Ginny in his arms and on the road to becoming an Auror. But Snape’s magic becomes unstable and suddenly, Harry must be constantly at wandpoint of a man who hated him on their best days. Things start to change and soon he starts to realize that there’s something more important than a perfect life.





	1. White Lights

**Author's Note:**

> _I've been working on this in the last couple months, I'm so excited to share this story with you. I cant promise regular updates, but the story is completely finished, it has 37 chapters and an epilogue. It's all written so you have nothing to worry about :)_
> 
> _There will be some Harry/Ginny in the beginning, and I'm sorry for that, some of it is even a bit detailed (boy was it hard to write those parts) but I promise to make up for it once the snarry really starts ;) but that will take a while, this is a slow burn story._
> 
> _Sheankelor was nice enough to beta this for me (us) so you'll have to endure less of my awful mistakes. Isnt she great? She is great. Thank you dear ;3_
> 
> _Anyway, I hope you guys will have as much fun reading this, as I had writing it!_

# Part One: Feathers

_“Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild.”_

_– Stephen King_

 

## I: White Lights

 

Chaos was everywhere. Confused people walked the Grounds from body to body, names were being shouted into the dark like cries of foxes. Most of the time no answer came. People cried. There were no sides anymore. Death Eaters, Muggleborns, Purebloods, members of Dumbledore’s Army or the Order of Phoenix were all the same in the eyes of the Healers and Death too. It was only natural that no matter what side they had fought on: a mother cried for her child, a brother for his sibling, children for their parents - Death made them all equal in the end.

Harry Potter looked around, tired eyes searching for his friends. He noticed a group not far away, a couple ginger haired people mixed with others were standing around in a circle in the midst of all the dust and dirt. Behind them the burning castle painted a horrible picture. At least the screams had died away.

He walked there, joining the group between Hermione and Ginny. The two girls gave him place and now he was one more of them who stood around aimlessly. Harry, Ron and Hermione occasionally shared a glance, but otherwise they were quiet. There was a lot to digest, many things had happened in just the last couple hours.

The war was over, however instead of joy they felt nothing. There was a spark in Harry, he wanted to see the bright side, he wanted to look around and think, finally, **‘** _we defeated Lord Voldemort **’**_ , but as he looked at his home and the dark piles on the ground that might be friends or people that were enemies once, all he felt was dread. He was afraid to see the faces of the dead, afraid to read the list that was getting longer and longer, because he knew there were just too many familiar names there.

He was thankful, though, that no one on the list bore the last name Weasley, Granger, or Longbottom. There was no McGonagall either, though she was injured. A mediwitch said her limp would go away soon.

Professor Flitwick rushed through the Grounds, running with his short legs towards the Main Gates, but for why Harry didn’t know. Hermione flinched next to him as if wanting to go after him but changing her mind the last moment.

Suddenly, loud voices cut thought the quiet night. They came from the castle and soon Harry could even see who they belonged to. A group of teachers lead by the headmaster marched out from the building. There was at least eleven of them, and all had their wand at the ready. Snape was leading them to the middle of the Grounds, his steps firm, his face expressionless.

They stopped several feet from Harry’s group and then Snape lifted his wand. His halt was so sudden, his cloak wrapped around his body.

“On three!” He gave the order, then started counting. “One – two – three!”

As he uttered the last number, ten wands were lifted towards the sky and white strings of magic emanated from the tip of them. Hermione gasped when the deep, serene chanting hit her ear, and Harry could understand why. The melodic sound like Fawkes’ song brought joy to his mind, it warmed him from the bottom of his heart.

The professors started moving, all of them had their eyes closed yet they didn’t bump into each other. It was as if the white light lead them to where they needed to be. Snape was the only motionless member of the group, but he, unlike the others, wasn’t even casting anything yet. Harry wondered what he was waiting for, then he started to see the pattern. The teachers organized around Snape so that he would be in the very middle of their circle.

Hermione pulled out her wand and whispers, “Come on, let’s help them,” and she was already gone from Harry’s side. He followed her, and so did Ron and shortly all of Harry’s group was standing among the professors not quite knowing yet what to do.

Hermione was the first who pointed her wand at the sky, and Harry wondered how she knew what spell to chant, when he didn’t even understand yet what was happening. However, instead of opening her mouth, Hermione closed her eyes and touched Slughorn’s shoulder. A moment later the white string of magic burst out of her wand as well.

When Ginny touched Hermione’s elbow and mimicked everything else she did, her wand came alive as well, and soon the rest of the Weasley boys joined the circle as well, as did Neville and Dean, too. And in the end, once the white beam shot up from their wands, they – consciously or subconsciously – but moved around so that they would face Snape.

Suddenly, Professor Flitwick joined the circle as well, and now Harry understood why he had left. Professor Sprout was at his heels, running as fast as she could. She stepped in the circle, wand lifting already, eyes closing, mouth opening to cast the same string of spells as the others. However, all of a sudden, the spell changed somehow, and Harry found that there was a low undercurrent to it, another spell, murmured only, not as strong as McGonagall or Hooch’s voice, but it was there.

Harry circled around the group until he discovered the source. He didn’t have to go far away. He found the headmaster only a couple feet from his left, eyes closed, chanting almost in trance. The spell he was saying was completely different from the other charm, deeper, and somewhat less rhythmic, and not as soft either. If the others were the rain, Snape’s voice was the thunder and yet, together, the two spells created harmony and unity.

The ring around Snape (and now around Harry as well) changed once again. There was movement ahead and on both sides of them, and looking behind himself, Harry realizes that McGonagall had just limped a few steps to the side so that she would be right behind Snape.

She held out her free hand and touched a shoulder. It was Ron’s who in response, held out a hand as well and touched Angelina’s arm. She, too, reacted to same way and soon Harry found himself in the centre of a closed group. Everyone was linked with someone except Snape, who just stood in the middle chanting his own spell, ever so different, but perfectly aligning with the rest.

In front of them, the colour of the spell coming from Flitwick’s wand changed and turned into ocean blue. On Harry’s right, Sprout’s jet of white light now gleamed golden yellow, and Harry turned to Slughorn, too, on his left, knowing what to expect. His green light joined in the sky with McGonagall’s crimson, and with the other two as well and then finally, Snape’s wand came alive, too.

The spell that came out from his wand was a mix of all the colours, entwined and entangled, twisting and twirling around each other, and finally Harry realized what they were doing. He, too, lifted his wand and pointed it at the dark sky. He closed his eyes and he let the magic take control.

He sensed his arm moving, it lifted on its own and he grasped Snape’s arm blindly. The man didn’t react, but instantly, magic burst through Harry’s wand, the same colourful as the headmaster’s. Harry could feel the wild, raw power go through him, it was a shock to every cell in his body. If the people around them were the rain, and Snape’s deep voice the thunder, _this_ was the lightning and it shook him to his core. Yet he knew this was right, he needed to be here, to do this.

It was an uplifting moment. Reality seemed to be non-existent, while it was right there at the same time and Harry could feel every nanosecond of it happening. There was something magical in a unity like this, but somewhere deep he did not fully understand what he had just become a part of.

Their magic – Snape’ and his – changed colour and turned into bright, blinding white. He could see it through his closed eyes, and yet he could see everything, all participants who performed the ancient magic, all faces turned to the sky, all wands spitting magic. He was outside of the circle and inside as well. He was alone and joined with twenty other people. He could feel his magic alone, the immense power of it as it shot up into the sky and at the same time, he could feel Snape’s magic too – how he knew it was the professor’s he didn’t understand, but it was his, so unique, electric, dark, untamed, almost frightening, just like the man himself.

They went quiet at the same time and Snape staggered against him. There was a gigantic dome over their heads, that still vibrated for a couple seconds before it disappeared, though Harry was certain it was just invisible and not faded.

“Hogwarts’ magic has been restored.” Snape announced, voice rough. He cleared his throat and straightened himself, turning towards the teachers and children that gathered around him. “The flames will die down in a couple of minutes and the castle will start to heal. However, there is still a lot to do.”

Teachers nodded, then solemnly walked away as if they had previously agreed what else they need to do. McGonagall patted Snape’s shoulder before she left, too and disappeared among the others.

Snape went on as if nothing had happened. “Granger, Lovegood,” he called, and Hermione straightened herself. Luna stepped forward as well. “You will be in charge of Potions,” stated Snape. “Take everyone who was even remotely good at brewing. Start working on everything from Calming Draught, to Healing Salves – anything you think might come handy. Use the Potions classroom, ingredients should be there already, cauldrons are out. Professor Slughorn has left his private storage room open for you, but mine is at your service as well. It is right next to the classroom; the door is open. Should there be anything else you require, Professor Slughorn will be of assistance.”

Hermione and Luna nodded, then rushed away already talking about who to take. Other student, lingering around aimless, were catching up to them in hopes that they could help.

“Weasley, Weasley, Chang,” Snape continued in the meanwhile, and said people stepped forward. Ginny and Ron both had a serious expression on their smudged faces, but Cho seems scared. “I want you to gather a group of twenty or more and help with carrying the injured to the school. If it helps, use the brooms and work in teams. Madame Hooch should be here with them soon. The Professors and the Order members are out there already checking the wounded and colour coding their state. Green is minor wounds, bring those to the Great Hall, orange is serious, but not deadly, they should be transported to the unused classrooms next to the Hall. Red is prominent death unless immediate help, they go straight to the Infirmary. Leave the ones with the white light.”

Harry looked over behind Snape and saw that the man did not lie. All over the Grounds more and more little lights showed up glimmering in the night. Their colours were hard to tell from this distance, but Harry seemed to discover many white ones. He wondered what those meant.

“Longbottom, Flannigan, Weasley – get a couple more students and head right to the Green Houses. We need Devil’s Claw, Bark of White willow, leaves of Aquamin, any plant that could help with pain relief. Longbottom will know, you can all ask him. Take what you find to the Infirmary and ask Granger what she needs.”

Fred nodded, then looked around for his twin. “I’ll go get George. We know a good spot for some mushrooms. Amazing when it comes to pain relief.”

“Perfect,” Snape said, “Firenze and the centaurs are waiting at the edge of the Forest to assist you. Hagrid is already in there.”

Fred turned around and disappeared too, taking the last of the people with him. Before Harry could join them, Snape continued without even looking at him, “Potter, you will come with me.”

He set off, long legs striding through the Grounds and Harry had trouble keeping up with him. “What are we doing, sir?”

Snape stopped and Harry all but bumped into him. When he looked up, Snape was staring down at him, something strange glinting in his black eyes.

“The white lights, Mr. Potter,” He said then slowly, his tone dropping to a whisper as he indicated with a wave of his arm the myriad of the little fairy lights scattered around the grounds of the school, “are the dead. We will assist collecting their bodies, regardless of their alliance and transport them near Dumbledore’s grave. Professor McGonagall and a couple of Ministry Officials are awaiting us.”

He set off, but Harry’s legs froze into the ground. Snape could not ask this from him. Anything, but not this. How could he help with a task such as this? To carry the dead? To see the faces of all those who were lost because he failed? Was Snape doing this to humiliate Harry? To show him without words how badly he had done, how much it had cost them to win the war? To demonstrate that Harry’s victory over Voldemort was nothing more than a flash in the heated fire of the battle?

“Come now,” drifted Snape’s soft voice from several steps ahead and as if in trance Harry finally moved. He pinned his gaze to the dark horizon and caught up. There was something burning low in his belly **:** shame, fear, anger, a mix of all that. It was not just Snape he was angry with, but himself, as well. Yet, it was Snape he wanted to stop and tell him he did not want to do this. Like his eleven-year-old self when it came to homework, he just wanted to brush this all away, enjoy the day and forget about it all, but he could not – not this, not right now.

Deep down, he understood his task was one of the most important, yet his hands were shaking. Cold sweat sat on his forehead regardless that the air was comfortably warm.

Snape did not give him a chance to turn around. He dictated a fast pace that did not let Harry deter and he followed the man obediently. The black cloak that fluttered with every step the Headmaster took, transfixed Harry. Its rhythmic waving brought serenity until the moment Snape finally stopped and the black silk wrapped around his body like a thin blanket.

There was someone lying motionless on the ground. Above their heads the white light slowly faded away. Harry recognized the body. She was a Ravenclaw, Gobstone champion, a year below him. Only seventeen years old.

He felt that uncomfortable burning sensation change into a fiery pit of eternal hell that digested his body from the inside. He looked at Snape’s back, pleading silently for the man to let him go, to send him away, yet dreading that Snape would notice his weakness and laugh at him. Breathing came harder and harder until Harry could only take small shallow breathes that made him dizzy.

Snape turned halfway around, and Harry did not even care that he would be noticed and certainly ridiculed.

However, Gods be good, Snape stopped halfway in his turn and just said, “Concentrate, Potter,” then he stepped over to another body, face covered by shadows.

Harry still just stared at the Ravenclaw girl, Clarice her name was he believed, not sure what to do. He couldn’t run away, but staying did not feel like an option either. He felt as if someone had spelled him not to be able to move anymore. His limbs felt like rocks attached to his body.

He looked up and his gaze met with Snape’s dark eyes. It was unreadable and conveyed no pity or hatred or even contempt. Snape just waited for him in calm expectancy to come to terms with the cruel task he had given Harry.

The young man took a deep breath and steeled himself. Looking the headmaster defiantly in the eyes he cast the spell, “Locomotor.”

The first had been the hardest, but the more times they stepped under the white light the easier it got – though, easy was still not a word Harry would prefer to use. It was unbearable, but it had to be done.

They transported each and every body next to Dumbledore’ grave where Ministry officials identified them and sent owls to the relatives. Then the dead were covered and, once again, transported to St. Mungo’s morgue.

It was dawning by the time they finished. Though Snape had never moved more than a couple feet away from him, Harry never felt this isolated before. It was all because of Snape and the burning passion of hatred kept him going from body to body. Even at times when at least five living people were around him, he felt just as alone.

He was uncertain where this detachment came from, but he found something interesting in it. The more time he spent with the dead, the less the living bothered him. Even Snape’s presence that used to fill him with unease was as niggling now as a butterfly.

Snape’s cheeks were flushed from climbing up and down on the many hills around Hogwarts. Sweat made his face glimmer in the rising sun. He had been quiet all night, spoke only when spoken to. He did not bark orders, nor did he taunt Harry how he used to. Maybe this was how he paid his respect to the fallen, or perhaps, he was soundlessly listening to the dead telling the story of their demise.

In the end, just when Harry would think the world should fall silent as well and mourn all the people who had died in the previous night, quite the opposite happened. More and more people showed up. Not just the survivors of the battle were at Hogwarts now, but people who fought elsewhere and came to join their family and friends. Mediwitches and wizards, the Prophet, civilians, Madam Rosmerta and all the others from Hogsmeade had come.

As the sun rose, so did the lingering tragic mood of the people – the sadness, like the early morning mist, vanished from their hearts and they seemed to chatter like the waking birds. All of them seemed happier as if the new day had brought the realization that the war was truly over.

All – except one. He stood next to Dumbledore’s grave, tall and hawkish with his long beak nose. His fingers rested gently on the cold stone and he stared at the grave as if expecting the man inside to rise now that the danger was dealt with. A sixth sense must have told Snape that he was observed, because he suddenly looked up right at Harry and the strange, sad expression from his face vanishes.

The first instinct told Harry to turn away but then he decided he would not. Instead he walked to Snape and asked in a quiet voice, “Why did you pick me to help with this?”

His tone was reproachful, and he did not even have the strength to hide it. The night had been incredibly demanding, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He felt tired as if he had not slept for a year, but Snape looked the same.

Tired did not even come close, actually. The man looked almost half dead himself. The past year had taken a toll on him and now that they stood closer by the light of the rising sun, Harry could see that clearly.

Snape did not get offended by the question which alone should have told Harry how tired the man was. He did not even answer but turned away and Harry thought for a moment that would be it, however then Snape stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

“Because a task like this would break anyone – except, perhaps… you.”

That left Harry baffled, standing there on top of the hill next to Dumbledore’s grave. After all the conflicting emotions of the day, from the happiness and relief of victory to the sadness and anger over the loss, this was what tipped up the jar and he felt tears burning his eyes. It was not the almost compliment from Snape, but everything else that made him tear up.

He couldn’t tell if Snape noticed what was happening behind him, but Harry did not even care. He earned his right to cry, he told himself, and not be ashamed for being seen. Warm tears streamed down his face, but he did not take off his eyes from Snape’s back as if daring him to turn back and see him, to give the headmaster more opportunity to taunt him.

Yet, when Snape faced him, the man did not jeer at Harry. He did not laugh. His face barely conveyed any emotion at all. He just sighed and walked up to Harry, placing a hand gently on top of his head. He ruffled Harry’s messy hair awkwardly, clearly not having any clue how to calm an eighteen-year-old who had just defeated the darkest wizard of the century.

Taking deep breathes, Harry calmed himself, trying to focus on the good. He wiped away the tears, but his voice was still groggy as he said. “What happens next?”

It was not Snape, who answered but a woman from behind them.

“Next…” she said as Snape and Harry both turned towards her, “…you die.”

It happened all too fast for Harry even to comprehend it. Instinctively, he cast a shield, and the first spell even bounced off but the next three that followed were too strong. Snape stepped forward, pushing him to the ground, his wand spitting crimson red spells at their attacker.

Harry landed on the hard ground and watched from there in almost slow motions as three spells knocked into Snape’s chest.

Pain crossed the professor’s face for a moment, then it switched to anger. Quick like a poisonous snake, his hand moved again, and another spell was about to fly from his wand, but then the woman’s curse took him by surprise.

There was laughter from not far away, shrilly and evil as Snape’s spell seemed to backfire. He froze, from pain, surprise or something even worse, Harry couldn’t say.

He pushed himself up from the ground, screaming spell after spell, trying to drag Snape into cover. Eyes wide, Snape couldn’t move, there was something strange about him as he stooped over, wand falling from his fingers. He clutched at his robes and Harry noticed terrified that his hands came away red with blood that had soaked through the dark clothes.

“He cannot save you,” the unknown woman laughed hysterically, but the smile froze to her face.

Everything happened so fast. Snape’s hazy eyes closed as he was about to lose consciousness but just as he fell to the ground a pure white wave of magic burst out of him. Its force smacked Harry against Dumbledore’s tomb, his head knocked against hard stone.

The woman, however, shrieked loudly and painfully, and dropped to the ground, Harry suspected, dead.

There was ringing in his ears, and his vision became blurry as he crawled to Snape’s still body.

“Hold on, sir,” he said, voice rough from the collision. He could hear footsteps and people and birds. He could hear a lot of things, but the most important sound, he couldn’t hear; Snape was not breathing anymore.


	2. A Quiet Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I know Harry and Severus are barely interacting in these first chapters, but I promise it will change later on, just give them some time ;)  
>  I'm stoked that some of you guys seem as excited about this as I am! I hope you'll like the next chapter as well :)_

## II: A Quiet Day 

 

“Was she a Death Eater?”

“Was she one of His men?”

“Is she dead?”

“Was she after Potter or Snape?”

“Does it matter?” rang Professor McGonagall’s voice silencing all the others. “She failed, that is the most important aspect.”

“Yes, but are there others?” Harry had to think for a couple of seconds to identify the voice that in the end he decided was Slughorn’s. “Should we put guards on the doors?”

“The Infirmary is well protected. No one gets in here without my or Poppy’s attention or approval.”

“Except Mr. Potter’s friends, of course,” noted Professor Flitwick with a little hint of mirth in his voice.

That made Harry open his eyes and finally look around. He was indeed in the Hospital wing, he could tell that even without his glasses. The whiteness of the room was all too familiar. What he was not sure of was why or how he had gotten here.

Someone touched his shoulder and he turned his head to the side. Bushy hair and wide grin welcomed him as Hermione helped putting on his glasses. She was not alone. Ron sat by her side as well, also smiling.

“Well, good luck stopping those two **,** ” Professor McGonagall said. “Even Voldemort did not manage that.”

Harry looked at his friends with questioning expression. Ron just shrugged while Hermione looked bashful. They must have sneaked in here during the night. They all stayed quiet however, listening to the professors talk.

“What do we know of her?” asked little Professor Flitwick.

“Not much,” a deep voice answered. It was Kingsley and Harry wondered if he was here in the Infirmary already performing his duties as an Auror or maybe he had gotten injured too during the war. “She had no identification on her. According to Ollivander, her wand belongs to one John Wilkes, a Muggle born whose wand was seized by the previous Ministry. Lot of the wands Umbridge and her little gang grabbed ended up destroyed but some entered the black market. There is no way to trace back its tracks.” Kingsley said in a quiet voice. “We did find a tattoo on her.”

“The Dark Mark, I’d assume,” murmured Professor McGonagall.

“No, unfortunately. Just the letter A. It does not seem like a professional work though, it’s more like… she has done it herself. Like she carved it into her own skin, cutting spells and ink. That’s all,” He sighed. “Maybe if Severus woke up, he could identify her, but we didn’t find anything as of yet. Wand unknown, no name, we have barely anything to go on.”

“Are you telling me,” Minerva said reproachfully, “that a rampant lunatic almost achieved what even Lord Voldemort failed to do?”

“Well…” Kingsley’s words faded. “She was probably still inside when the castle’s magic was restored. We tested it several times since then and none of the dark wizards were able to cross the dome now. We believe-“ But Minerva interrupted him quickly.

“Forgive me, Kingsley, but I do not care what you _believe_. My headmaster, who nearly lost his life, lies still unconscious and Harry Potter hasn’t woken up in the last five days either. I want to know what happened.”

“Minerva, dear,” little Flitwick tried calming her down. “We are all worried, but that is no reason to speak to the acting Minister for Magic like this.”

“Filius, I am talking to my friend, not the acting Minister.”

“Let me remind you, Severus isn’t just your friend, Minerva, he’s dear to me, too.” Kingsley said calmly. “And we can thank Harry more than-“

“We can thank them both more than anyone can imagine,” Professor McGonagall said strictly. “Our life, our peace, our future. It is high time, we give them back all of those, Kingsley. Hopefully, Mr. Potter and Professor Snape will wake soon, and I do not want any more attempts on their lives.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Kingsley resigned that he had lost this battle.

“Can I see him?” Said a timid voice, a young girl’s but Harry didn’t recognize it. Ron and Hermione looked confused as well.

“Not now, darling. Maybe in a couple days, when he wakes up,” Kingsley told her then they heard the sound of retreating footsteps.

But Professor Snape did not wake up in the next couple of days. Snape didn’t, in fact, wake up for more than a month to come.

o.O.o

May went by sluggish and quiet as if even the days that were getting warmer every day would be holding their breath back awaiting the moment when Snape finally opened his eyes. The Castle kept rebuilding itself, the gargoyles and statues that used to fight so bravely in the war were now toting heavy rocks, bricks and wood. They rebuilt walls and repaired windows like little ants working for a purpose far greater than them.

Harry did not yet know who controlled them or how they knew that the window on the seventh floor was blue tinted with a raven on it, while on another one an ugly old witch was carrying firewood, yet everything changed back to how it was used to be. Scourged walls were cleaned by house elves, and Filch just swept and swept and swept all night and all day it seemed. Day by day, the Castle cleaned up; from top to bottom, from more serious to less, damages were fixed up one by one. The whole castle healed, but in the heart of it, Snape remained motionless.

Harry was one of the few who stayed behind to help. The whole Castle was empty, even most of the teachers had departed though according to McGonagall they would all be back by the start of the new term. Kingsley often visited, though his duties as acting Minister called him away and he couldn’t stay for long. He always checked on Snape, took some advice from Professor McGonagall, then he was on his way again, building a better world.

Hermione sent regular letters. Exotic birds delivered them from the far away Australia. Her parents had been luckily found after two weeks, they were dealing with arranging their return. Ginny came to visit Hogwarts a couple times a week, stating she was only there to help, but Harry knew she had a different agenda. Whenever she visited, they worked together and talked and talked and talked, trying to bring back what had been between them before the war.

And Hogwarts healed, while Professor Snape remained the only ill person in the empty Castle. There was no news about him whatsoever. Nothing changed in his state, it remained a mystery to all why he did not wake. Wounds fully healed yet still unconscious, he lay in the white bed, black hair spread on pristine pillow, pale skin dry and cool to the touch, breathing quietly, eyes moving behind closed lids as if he would be dreaming – an eternal dream he might never wake from, Madam Pomfrey told Harry once during the only time she allowed a cloud of darkness to cover her optimism.

Then June came and the heat of the summer sun forced Harry to rest more between demanding spells. At first, he used to watch Flitwick who did not even break a sweat and learnt from him, then he soon started doing the spells himself. Shattered glasses came together, walls in classroom painted themselves and the more Harry practised, the less it bothered him. Spells that used to make him breathless he now did with a wave, barely even concentrating. Magic, he found, was like running – the more you do it, the more you strain yourself, the stronger your muscles become.

They were already in the midst of summer, Harry’s birthday was coming up, but there was still no change in Snape’s state.

o.O.o

This day, like the rest, started early. Harry did his morning routine of waking up, going down the Main Hall for breakfast, then running to the Infirmary with his unfinished toast in his mouth to check on Snape. He said hello to Madam Pomfrey, as he jogged to Snape’s bed. He finished his toast, reading the newspaper aloud, while Pomfrey administered some potions. They chatted for a little while over the unconscious body, then at eight sharp the door opened, Professor McGonagall came in and Harry received his to-do list.

The list was nothing interesting, mostly just tedious, little works the gargoyles missed, like sweeping and dusting. It was as if Harry had still been in Privet Drive, he all but expected Aunt Petunia to come any moment, shrieking about the heat or the neighbour’s new car, while Uncle Vernon would be complaining about the News. His relatives thankfully did not come, and Harry’s companion was someone a lot more pleasant.

Ginny arrived to help out not much later that day, and they didn’t stop working until Professor McGonagall sent them off to have some rest and eat some lunch. It was way past noon, already, and Harry thought the break to be well-earned. They had mopped half the castle just that day and were even hindered when a group of gargoyles uncaringly marched through the pristine Dungeons with dirty feet.

They gathered some food from the kitchens and sat outside under a tree near the lake.

“Have you met the new Defence professor?” Ginny asked.

“He might not be the new Defence prof, yet **,** ” Harry said. “Snape has to agree to him, too. McGonagall just interviewed him.”

“But you met him?” Ginny asked excitedly.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “He seems cool,” he admitted. He met the man just yesterday. They had been formally introduced, after his interview. “His name is Archibald Wallace. He seems fairly young, he fought in both wars. He even has a cool tattoo on his left forearm, like a hawk. He said he got it when he was eighteen.” Harry grinned as he added, “’Cause hawks eat snakes, you know.”

Ginny laughed. “So, we can hope he’s not a lunatic?”

“Yeah, I don’t think he is. But then again, I didn’t think Quirrel was one, either. Or that Moody wasn’t Moody at all.”

“There was no doubt with Lockhart and Umbridge though, was there?”

Laughing, they looked at each other. Moments like this happened all the time, moments they usually ignored and looked away, pretending they did not feel the warmth spreading, afraid that it might not lead to where they wanted to go. This time however, as the warmth of the summer sun burned Harry’s skin, he came to a decision.

Ginny looked beautiful as the rays of sunshine illuminated her flaming red hair. He brushed it away from her face as he kissed her softly on the lips. She sighed, relieved it seems that they had finally dared jump this – again.

“I missed you,” she whispered against his lips then gently pushed him to the ground. Silky red hair caressed Harry’s skin as they kissed.

First day, since he had started helping to rebuild the caste, Harry skipped his afternoon tasks and remained basking in the warm sunshine with Ginny on top of her.

They stayed there until the sun set and even a couple hours after, just talking and kissing and talking. It was like that first kiss had broken through a dome that has separated them in the past year. They were suddenly back in sixth year, with their biggest problems being Quidditch _(“You won’t play? But who will be the captain?” “I’m sure it will be you!”_ ), their exams _(“I’m terrified of the NEWTs. Bill says they are insanely hard.” “We’ll help each other, Gin. And besides, Hermione will be back by September.”_ ) or how they would make time for each other _(“We make it work, Gin.)._

She was happy, and it made Harry happy, too.

It was way past seven in the evening, when they finally said goodbye, sweet kisses holding both of them back from moving away. They laughed and kissed and laughed again, unable to let go, they felt almost drunk stumbling outside of Hogwarts’ Gates. In the end, Ginny finally apparated home, afraid that her mother would be worried. Neither of them could get the happy grin of their faces for minutes even after their final goodbye.

As Harry headed back towards the castle a dark shadow appeared in front of him. He kept walking suspecting who the tall man would be and wasn’t surprised to hear Kingsley’s deep baritone.

“Hi, Harry! Haven’t seen you all day.”

“Hello, Kingsley,” Harry said as they shook hands. “How have you been?”

“Oh, I don’t have to introduce you to the Ministry, I believe.” He laughed booming. “Admittedly, bureaucracy has never been my forte. I prefer a good fight over hours of paperwork. But… _slowly_ things seem to look better. We finally have a war committee that will sit through the trials. It’s good news upon good news today.” He smiled.

Harry could only agree with that. He turned back towards the Gates, as he decided to walk him out, too. They chatted for a while about Ministry’s efforts and all the problems that had risen since Kingsley was acting Minister. “So, when’s the election again?” Harry asked, jokingly.

“Potter!” Kingsley cried twirling around. “Don’t play with me, boy!” He laughed when he saw Harry’s grin. “You know how much is at stake here.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said patting him on the shoulder. “Just kidding. Couldn’t forget Sunday, even if I wanted to. Professor McGonagall adds it to my to-do list every day. I’ll be there. You have the Saviour’s vote, Kingsley.”

“Much appreciated,” said the man, thankful. “I hardly doubt I could do it without all of your support.”

“Is that why you came today as well? Last minute support session with McGonagall and Dumbledore’s portrait?” Harry asked. “You have nothing to worry about, you know.” He said reassuringly.

Shacklebolt stopped and grabbed Harry’s shoulder, suddenly serious. “Oh no, Harry no. That’s not why I’m here today. Severus woke up.”

Eyes going wide, Harry asked, “What? When?” But he was already backing away from Kingsley.

“This afternoon. Go!” Kingsley laughed, giving a little shove to send Harry away. “See you on Sunday, Harry!”

But Harry barely heard him, he was running so fast towards the castle.

_Snape woke up_.

o.O.o

Snape was not alone. Professor McGonagall was there with him. Harry could hear their voices, but Snape was furthest from the entrance – closest to Poppy’s office – and he couldn’t see them. There was a third voice too, that sounded faintly familiar to Harry, though he could not place it yet.

He ambled closer, not wanting to intrude even though he was eager to see Snape. Instead, he watched from a couple of feet away as the three people talked. It took him no time to recognise the man standing with his back to him. Long black dread locks that would reach the middle of his back were tied up loosely as Archibald Wallace spoke with a serene and polite tone. He was explaining about his previous experiences. Snape watched the dark skinned man with mild interest.

It seemed Snape wanted to catch up as soon as possible, though how Professor McGonagall could allow him to work already, Harry did not understand. Then again, he doubted there was hardly anything people could simply _not allow_ Snape to do.

Illuminated under the many candles of the Infirmary room, the man sat on his bed, clean shaven and conducting an interview as if he had not spent the last nearly two months in coma. The only sign that he was indeed sick was the potion bottles on the nightstand and the nightgown he was wearing in bed.

Strangely, now that this moment finally had arrived, Harry did not know what to say. He had waited for this, though only now did he realize he did not know why. Snape and he were as friendly as a rabbit and a wolf could be and there was not even any doubt in his mind who was who in that metaphor. Technically, they said goodbye after Harry’s sixth year by hurling spells at one another just after Snape had killed Dumbledore. Then a year later, during the Battle of Hogwarts, Snape’s true alliance was revealed. Harry had seen his memories, watched him fight heroically, and then helped him restore the Castle’s magic. They carried the dead together without saying a single word, then they were attacked and that was it.

Yet now, as he watched the man, his strict gaze assessing Wallace’s answers and features like a hawk watching a prey, Harry felt a strange kind of relief. Relief that the man who once again had saved his life was not dead. Relief that the war did not demand another life after all.

“MR. WALLACE!” Professor McGonagall all but shrieked suddenly, jumping from her seat.

Wallace was pointing his wand at Snape, who held his hands in the air, surrendering. Wandless, there was not much he could do.

Harry watched the scene, wand already in hand. He walked quietly towards them, ready to disarm (or worse) the man the moment he moved.

“What disgrace!” Wallace grunted. “A Death Eater running Hogwarts?” He snarled.

Only then did Harry realize that Snape’s wide sleeves had rolled up and the Dark Mark was revealed. The insult left a slightly pink colour on Snape’s pale skin, but otherwise the Headmaster remained motionless.

“I am not a Death Eater,” Snape said slowly. “I assure you, Mr. Wallace, were I one, Albus Dumbledore would have never appointed me to headmaster.”

“Pointing a wand at a sick man in his own school, that is the disgrace here, Mr. Wallace,” hissed McGonagall. “Put it down right now. Severus Snape had been exonerated a long time ago. He fought Tom Riddle on these very grounds not two months ago.”

Snape noticed Harry’s approach, and with only a slight, almost unnoticeable move of his eyes did he signal for Harry not to move an inch. Harry stopped but did not lower his wand.

“After the battle, Harry Potter was attacked by an unknown woman in the presence of a Death Eater and you’re telling me-“ Wallace started to say, but Professor McGonagall shut him up by pulling her wand as well and pointing it at Wallace.

“Harry Potter’s life was saved by Professor Snape, Headmaster of this school and a loyal member of the Order of Phoenix!” she said sternly. “Mr. Wallace, thank you for your time, but your application has been denied. Now, get out!”

“Professor McGonagall,” Snape’s voice cut into the sudden silence coldly. “I am perfectly capable to dismiss _or hire_ the professors I want to be teaching at this school.”

“Severus, you cannot tell me-“ She said but this time, she was the one interrupted.

“I can, and I will. You know as well as I do that Mr. Wallace’s credentials are perfect for our needs. His task will be to teach the children, and I am sure he will be more than capable in that area. As long as he keeps his displeasure of my person to himself, I see no reason why he couldn’t work here. What do you say, Professor?” Snape lowered his hands finally and looked expectantly at Wallace.

“If you think, I will let a Death Eater stay as Headmaster of Hogwarts for another minute-“ Wallace growled, but he was interrupted again.

Professor McGonagall moved fast as lightning as she disarmed the man, then pointed her wand right into Wallace’ face, holding it only inches from him. “Do not call Professor Snape a Death Eater once more in my presence.” She said in a deadly quiet tone.

“Minerva!” Snape shouted. He reached for his wand on the nightstand but his hand froze in the air. Blue light shimmered around him, strange and barely visible. He stared at his own glowing fingers for a few seconds then his gaze moved slowly to Wallace.

“What have you done?” He sneered in an almost threateningly low voice.

“What are you trying to do, Snape?” Wallace cried, backing away. “I won't let you hurt anyone in this school.” He hissed then grabbed his wand from Minerva, who was distracted by the pulsing blue light emanating from Snape. “This ends now!” The man shouted, pointing his wand at the headmaster.

“Indeed, it does,” was all Harry said, his voice quietly echoing among the tiled walls.

Wallace turned around, but before he could even utter another word, Harry flicked his wrist. The man flew past him, didn’t even stop until he was outside of the Infirmary. “Don’t even come back,” Harry murmured, not that Wallace would hear him.

With Wallace out of the way, he looked back at Snape again, but the man wasn’t in any better shape. The blue, pulsing light that came out of him was bigger and bigger, as if building up.

“Call Poppy and don’t come any closer!” Snape instructed Professor McGonagall, who sent her Patronus right away. “I don’t know what this is.” As he watched the light, fear crossed his eyes.

Harry moved closer, but Professor Snape barked at him. “What did I _just_ say, Potter?”

Madam Pomfrey rushed in the room, wand casting already. Snape reached for his wand as well to assess what curse Wallace may have used on him.

“NO!” Madam Pomfrey shouted, but too late.

The moment Snape’s hand touched his wand, the blue light burst out. It changed colour in the last minute going from light blue to white and Harry suddenly realized that he had seen this before. He raised a shield just as Minerva and Poppy, and the bright white magic crashed against them like the wave of a tsunami.

It did feel like that; like fighting a huge upsurge of water with nothing but an umbrella. But he held on, persisting. McGonagall and Pomfrey were not so lucky, their shields collapsed and the end of the wave caught them unawares. Snape’s magic knocked them against the wall. Frightened, knowing what that magic had previously done, Harry rushed to McGonagall first searching her slim wrist for her pulse.

A relieved sigh left his mouth when he found her alive. Madam Pomfrey was well, too as she blinked owlishly up at Harry, uncertain what had just happened.

Snape sat on his bed, looking terrified.

The door banged open and Wallace ran in. He halted for a moment at the sight of destruction Snape’s magic created. By the time he reached McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, the women were standing, though still slightly shaken, and staggering. Minerva shot fearful glances at Snape, but she remained quiet and calm.

The tone that used to be serene and polite was wild like a thunder now. “I accept the position, _Professor_ Snape.” Wallace said spiteful. “You're a danger to this school, and I’ll be watching you. If you hurt Potter or anyone else ever again, I’ll make sure you rot in Azkaban.”

“He won’t,” Harry told him, but he did not feel the confidence that resided in his voice. “Professor Snape has our utmost faith, Professor Wallace. I trust him with my life.”

“Then, with all respect, Mr. Potter, you are a fool,” he replied then stormed out of the Infirmary.

They stood around the rubble looking at the havoc Snape’s magic wreaked.

“Are you sure you want to work with him, Professor Snape?” Madam Pomfrey inquired softly. “You two seem to have quiet the explosive relationship.”

“There is no one else,” Snape said quietly, twirling his wand in his hand. The blue light was gone, and he was easily levitating his pillow without another accident.

“He’s an idiot, Professor.” Harry said. “I can't believe-“ He tried to go on but he was rudely interrupted.

“Your presence has just made this a million times worse, Potter. Touching your words might be to some, I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, thank you,” sneered Professor Snape.

Harry jerked away from the cutting words as if they were actual spells.

“Yes,” McGonagall sniffed quietly, inspecting the debris around them. She was dusting off her robes, as she looked at Professor Snape and raised her eyebrow. “I think we can all see that, Severus.”


	3. The End of Summer

## III: The End of Summer

 

A week later, they let Snape go. The blue light, like Wallace, was gone, however, the man was expected back by the time the school started. Harry voiced his aversion to that, though he only dared mention it to Professor McGonagall. She agreed with him, however there were other factors Harry had not been aware of.

“We do not have anyone else, Harry,” she told him when they stood there in the empty Infirmary. “He was the only candidate for the position and, might I add, not even a bad one. He has experience in both the Dark Arts and teaching. His colleagues and students recognize him as a brilliant, open-minded professor.”

“Open-minded?” Harry echoed with a huff. “He did not seem very open-minded to me.”

“He is,” his Head of House assured him. “There is a lot you do not know about him, and before you even ask, I am not at liberty to say. All you need to know is that Archibald Wallace, like many of us, is wary of Death Eaters for a reason. He just needed to be convinced that Professor Snape isn’t one.”

“Is he? Convinced I mean?”

“We’ll see that if he is sitting with us at the first of September, won’t we?” Professor McGonagall said. She nodded goodbye, then headed towards the door, but Harry stopped her.

“What about Snape?”

“Professor Snape, Harry,” she chided softly, “and what about him?”

“Won’t he… It won’t be easy for him working with someone who thinks the worst of him.”

“Professor Snape has dealt with that kind of perception of his person for many years,” said McGonagall. “One more won’t break him.

Harry was left alone in the pristine white Infirmary, and first time in a while, he did not even have a to-do list to help with passing the time. Instead he walked outside to take a stroll.

The Grounds were green again. The burned patches of grass had regrown thanks to Professor Sprout’s devoted labour, and the broken, blackened trees had been mended. Now once again, hills of bright green awaited those who would return to Hogwarts and only a monument reminded people of what had happened here in May.

A while little obelisk with nothing more than a date engraved in it stood on one of the many hills, nameless. As Harry walked past it, he found a white rose there, at the base of the marble. He did not want to think of it, but the memories came on their own and he had no power to stop them.

A year of search for Horcruxes, of small battles and fights – some of them they won, most they lost. The days of camping all but blurred together now, he only remembered the cold, the hunger, the constant fear and worry. He recalled feeling trapped in that tent, like a bird in a cage, with no clue as to where to go, with wings broken and unable to fly.

Where would he had flown? To the Burrow bringing devastation to the Weasleys? Back to Surrey? There was nothing there to return to. Would he had flown to hide in the muggle world where no one knew him, where he could be just a person and not the Saviour? Or back to Hogwarts, to a place that meant home to him for many years, where he had felt the happiest?

He wouldn’t have felt happy here back then. Hogwarts was a different world, filled with darkness and torture and daily fights for freedom. Snape’s betrayal shook Harry’s world, but of course that was a lie too, like so much more in his life. The veil on Dumbledore’s death had been revealed during the final battle, and the truth about Snape’s alliance turned the tides.

Professor McGonagall knew, but she had made an Unbreakable Vow never to reveal it to anyone. She seemed to know everything that went around in Hogwarts, but not even she could have predicted Snape’s rage in the battle. They said he had been vicious. Harry had not seen it, being dead at the time, but tales rose from the ashes of Hogwarts, and told curious stories about the Headmaster.

He had killed the snake. He opened her up with a blade as he told Tom Riddle that he had been fooled by Albus Dumbledore. After he had come back from death, Harry saw only glimpses of Snape’s fights while battling Voldemort, but even he noticed when the Professor set half the Grounds on fire to save some people.

Then the battle ended, the ash, like the foreign memories in Harry’s head, had settled. They hadn’t spoken since, at least not about what was important, and it bothered Harry for some reason. Shouldn’t they at least mention the friendship between Harry’s mom and Professor Snape? Shouldn’t there be a truce now, that Harry knew who the man really was? Shouldn’t be there _some_ change at least?

Harry watched the white rose at the bottom of the obelisk, his eyes all but glued to the pristine petals on the green grass. So much had happened here, so many lost souls, so many lives unfinished before they could be lived. This battle, the events of this whole past year had changed Harry. He could barely remember the petty issues with Snape, the man’s snarky remarks, his hatred, all he could recall were the bright flames that ate away the grounds keeping the Death Eaters from a bunch of children, the gleam of Godric Gryffindor’s sword in in the moonlight, dripping with blood in the man’s hand.

How many years had he spent hating the man, yet in the end it turned out he was an ally all along, watching over Harry, always. That should have changed things, should it? That should have brought on a sort of amicability between them, anything other than hatred. And Harry, indeed, could not feel it in himself to cling to all the loathing and mistrust. His words in the infirmary _were_ true, he would trust Snape with his life. He _trusted_ Snape. That on principle ruled out any revulsion he might feel towards the man. Was it not reciprocated? Did Snape still think him a lazy, arrogant child?

_A task like this would break anyone – except, perhaps… you._ Snape’s words after the battle, Harry could recall them clearly. They did not speak of disparagement, this was a praise and a high one in that. Yet, in the Hospital Wing that evening, Snape did not seem to have a change of heart regarding Harry.

Even though he knew so much about Snape’s past, Harry still didn’t understand the man any better then during the first seven years of their acquaintance. But he trusted him, that was sure.

He forced his eyes away from the rose and obelisk altogether, not willing to linger any longer on an issue that didn’t really matter and looked around.

It wasn’t just the Grounds, the Castle had improved day after day as well. The ugly stone creatures, like little ants worked on the inside, but there was not much left to do. The battered walls were all mended, where fire raged eating up wood, now new girders had been placed. The caved in roofs had been fixed, the broken windows repaired. From the outside, Hogwarts looked as untouched by time and the past as it was the first day Harry laid eyes on it.

Bored, Harry looked for something to do. He saw Hagrid at the edge of the forest. The half-giant was doing laundry and Harry decided to walk up to him.

“Hello, Hagrid,” he smiled broadly. “You need some help with that?” He asked nodding towards a gigantic blanket that was dripping water.

“Sure,” came the answer and Harry immediately prodded the fabric with his wand and it flew up, draping itself over the stretched-out rope. He kept helping with the bigger or heavier sheets or coats until the large basket sat empty on the ground.

Hagrid patted him on the back. “Thank you, Harry,” he said. “Lemonade?” He offered.

They sat outside in the shade, sipping the refreshing drink. “So how have you been?” the giant asked. “Been busy, have you?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, I was helping out where I could.”

“I see.” Hagrid nodded again, but there was a strange gleam in his beetle back eyes. “Did Ginny Weasley need help as well?”

Harry could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. Ginny and he had been meeting every day this week. Ginny would come in the morning and leave late evening. They would spend the in-between time working on the Castle for a while, then having lunch, working some more and then lying out on the sun and watching the sunset. Though Harry had to admit there wasn’t many sunsets he had seen this last week, as his attention was completely elsewhere: namely on Ginny’s lips. They had been wildly making out at every possible moment they could find.

“Well, it’s…” Harry started to say but he caught Hagrid’s wide smile.

“Atta boy,” the half-giant commented. “You deserve it, Harry. Be happy. Enjoy yourself. You worked hard for it.” They both knew he did not mean all the help he did on the school.

Harry could not help the smile that crossed his lips as he thought of Ginny. “I’m happy with her, Hagrid. She’s just perfect.”

“She’s a lot like your mom, you know,” Hagrid said. “I mean red hair aside. She’s very brave and fiery. It won't be easy.”

“But it will be worth it,” Harry grinned.

“So how is Ron and Hermione? When are they coming back?”

“Oh, they are back home already. Hermione is with her parents, Ron is helping out in the shop. The business is booming again, so the twins need all the help they can get.” Harry answered sipping his lemonade. “Have you seen Kingsley lately? I haven’t seen him around since Snape… since Professor Snape woke up.”

“He was here the other day,” Hagrid grunted.

Harry laughed. “Bad news already? He’s only been Minister for Magic for four days.”

“Four sleepless days, as I hear,” said Hagrid. “The trials are starting. The Malfoys first, then the rest of the bunch. And they still don’t know anything about the witch who attacked you and Professor Snape. Even Lucius Malfoy says he has never seen her.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time Malfoy lied…”

“They gave him Veritaserum, Harry. Everyone keeps saying she’s dead, so what does it matter where she comes from. They do not understand what Kingsley already suspects. If there was one, there could be others.”

“You think we’re still in danger?” Harry asked quietly.

“You, Professor Snape, or both of you, who knows what the aim of the attack really was.”

After lunch, when he left Hagrid’s hut, Harry’s mind still reeled around the attack. He always assumed he, himself, was the target but what if the woman was after Snape. The question why she would want to kill Snape is pointless as she had way too many reasons. The moment Snape had revealed himself as Dumbledore’s man, the whole fight had change. With Nagini’s death, Snape had given a chance for Harry to finish off Riddle.

Snape was a celebrated hero among many, especially among the Order Members. Given Kingsley made a promise to clear his name, now even those who did not know the full truth agreed that Snape served the Light, thus, the number of his enemies even if the war had ended, stayed innumerable. But the attack happened right after the battle, Snape’s alliance was known only to those who were there that night. The woman, this mysterious attacker, must have been a Death Eater or someone serving Voldemort.

He was deep in thoughts as he arrived back to the Castle. The school was still mostly empty, but he was not alone this time.

Professor Snape, a lonely dark figure in the bright summer sunshine, stood next to the memorial. He had an unreadable expression on his face as he stared at the white marble. His gaze was so intense, it could almost summon the departed souls and order them to return.

Harry wanted to approach him. He wanted to go there and ask about his mother. He wanted to talk about the war, about Dumbledore, and about that one year they had not met. He wanted to talk about the Forest of Dean. Yet he did not move.

As Snape stood there, eyes on the obelisk, he appeared as intimidating as ever, and Harry suddenly felt apprehensive. Nothing had changed between them in the past year and why he expected to see a different man now that he knew more of Snape’s past, he did not understand. What he knew with certainty however was that Snape was Snape, the cruel professor who had taught Harry for six long years. Things did not change, _could_ not change just because he saw some memories. Why would they?

Their shared past was still the same and no battles, victories or dark lords would change that.

Just as he was about to turn to leave, he was noticed. Snape looked up, stared right at him. Harry hesitated for a moment, but before he could decide whether to go to Snape or run away, the Professor started walking towards him instead.

His stride was just as Harry remembered: intimidating and powerful. There was no sign of his injuries anymore, at least not in the way he moved. As he stopped several feet from Harry, his robes wrapped around his legs.

“Good day, Mr. Potter.”

“Professor Snape,” Harry said. “I was just at Hagrid’s.” He added quickly as if he had been caught lurking around the castle way past midnight.

Snape frowned, sensing Harry’s discomfort. “You are free to walk to castle grounds, Mr. Potter, not that a curfew or any rules or restrictions had stopped you any time before.”

Harry looked away repressing his immediate annoyance. His eyes caught on a gargoyle, who was still working on the castle wall.

“Magnificent creatures, aren’t they, gargoyles?” Snape noted, as his gaze followed Harry’s. “They serve the school loyally, fight viciously when they are needed, repair the castle perfectly without a single command, yet when everything is in peace, they stand idle, aimless.”

His eyes returned to Harry as he continued. “Do not be like these gargoyles, Mr. Potter. Your life has not ended with the war, so go out and live it. I do not wish to see you around here until the first of September, is that understood?”

“Are you kicking me out, sir?” Harry asked back more surprised than offended.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, I am.”

“After all I’ve done?”

“All you have done _is_ the exact reason why I’m sending you away.”

“You mean I can't return to finish school?” Harry asked irritated.

“No,” Snape said with a forced calmness in his voice. “You’re welcome to return at the first of September like all the other students. Not one day before.”

“Why are you sending me away, Professor Snape?” Harry asked. Snape wasn’t angry at him. He spent enough time facing Snape’s wrath to recognize it. This was something Harry had never seen. Concern, perhaps.

“Your N.E.W.T.s will be demanding, and being a veteran war hero will not excuse you of studying. You have done enough, it is time to rest. Besides I’m getting irate at just watching you wander around aimlessly like a little, lost puppy.”

Harry didn’t believe that excuse for a moment, but left it at that, and they started walking towards the main entrance. He felt that he should be planning his summer, yet all he could still think about was the past. No matter their personal feelings for each other, Snape did save his life, and without his help, he never could have won over Voldemort. He felt that an acknowledgement of some sort was in place.

“Can I say something, Professor?” he asked hesitantly.

Snape didn’t look at him as he answered, “If you must, Mr. Potter.”

“I didn’t know my mom, but I think she wouldn’t be angry with you anymore. She would have forgiven your mistakes. I know you probably don’t care, sir-“ Harry tried to say quickly but Snape interrupted him.

“No, I don’t.” He said.

They walked quietly for a while, Harry half-way regretting what he had just said, but then Snape spoke again.

“I fulfilled my debt to Lily Evans. It is not _her_ forgiveness I need anymore,” he said quickly as if afraid his words would betray him and not come out of his mouth. “It is not her my actions have… orphaned.”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Could this be true? Could it be that all these years, he was waiting for Harry to absolve him of all the deeds he had done?

Snape stopped, too, a couple feet ahead, but did not turn back to face Harry.

Harry could only talk to his back. “I could never forgive you,” he said, and Snape tensed right away. His hands fisted, and Harry couldn’t help but notice the same glimmering blue light around them that had brought such devastation to the Infirmary. “I could never forgive you, because… there’s nothing to forgive. What happened to my mom and dad isn’t your fault. It was Pettigrew who betrayed them. It was Tom Riddle who chose me and not Neville as his equal, and it was he who killed my parents.”

For a moment, there was nothing, then Snape sighed deeply, running his fingers through his hair. It was longer than ever, Harry realized. Almost as long as Ginny’s.

“Go now, Mr. Potter, you need to pack. Molly Weasley expects you for dinner.”

Harry smiled, knowing Snape enough to realize this was as close to appreciations as he would ever get. He walked up to the man and held out a hand.

“See you on the first of September, Professor Snape,” he said.

Snape eyed his hand for a moment, then took it. His fingers were very cold, but his grip was strong. “Until then, Mr. Potter.”

Harry realized he had never really touched Snape before. This was the first contact they probably ever had. It was strange how personal a simple handshake could be, how much it could say. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but it reminded Harry of that moment back in May, when they stood in the middle of a circle, him holding Snape’s arm as they restored Hogwarts’ magic. A shiver went down Harry’s body and he let go. He nodded and turned to leave but something caught his eyes.

Gargoyles were everywhere. On the grounds, on the castle roofs, climbing on the wall. They were all returning to their places, one by one squatting at the edge and turning back to stone in the end.

“It is done,” said Snape solemnly next to him his eyes on the stone creatures as well, who now watched them blindly. “Hogwarts is healed.”

Harry looked at his professor, then at the man’s hand that only moments ago was simmering with blue light. Hogwarts might be healed, but what about everyone else? What about Snape?

o.O.o

The rest of July and August passed in a heartbeat. Harry felt like twelve again. He was spending the summer with his best friend, playing Quidditch in the back garden, de-gnoming the yard, helping Mrs. Weasley cook, explaining to Mr. Weasley what a Game Boy was and of course, just sitting with Ginny under some shady tree, kissing or talking like a normal eighteen-years old boy was supposed to. Life was good, and Harry felt happy.

They visited the twins regularly, Harry even helped out at the shop with Ron. It was immense fun and did not feel as work at all. He even contributed to some of the new products. It felt great to use his magic ~~for~~ a little more extensively on occasion and Fred and George were more the happy to let him experiment.

But leaves started to yellow, and Harry’s perfect summer neared its end. Going back to Hogwarts now was almost as painful as coming away. He knew he needed to return, he had to sit for his N.E.W.T.s in order to become an Auror, but a part of him wanted to stay here forever, in Ginny’s arm, lying under the orange sky, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun.

It was such a rare occasion that they were all alone. Ron was usually tagging along, aware of being the third wheel, but there was not much they could do about it. Mrs. Weasley would not allow them to stay unaccompanied for long, even though now both of them were of age.

Ginny smelled wonderful, like summer itself and Harry burrowed his nose in her neck. He took a deep breath, feeling almost shaky as the heady, flowery scent got to his head. He kissed her neck and she giggled. Even her skin tasted so sweet like flowers, though he knew she wasn’t wearing any perfume.

“We could be seen, Harry,” she smiled at him, but then uncaringly pulled him into a kiss.

With searing kisses occupying his lips, Harry hands were exploring her body, sliding on her arms, in his beautiful long hair. He felt a sudden burning heat in the pit of his belly, something that he was becoming more and more accustomed during their time alone.

“Everything will change tomorrow, won’t it?” Ginny asked pulling away, burrowing her head in the crook of Harry’s neck.

“Why do you say that, Gin?” Harry asked back surprised. “We’ll be in the same year, we’ll almost have the same classes. I’ll stay in the Gryffindor Tower like everyone else, too.”

“I just have a feeling… It’s stupid, I don’t know. Maybe because last time…”

He hugged him closer. “Gin, last time I had to leave. It was a war, and I was _wanted_.” He gave her a small kiss. “Now I’m just a normal bloke.”

Ginny laughed, “Harry, I love you, but you’ll never be normal.”

He didn’t say anything to that, just kissed her. Her warm lips moving with his, her silky hair sifting through his fingers, her soft breast under his palm all assured Harry that he was living a perfectly normal life and returning to Hogwarts would not change any of that.

The next day, not even twenty-four hours later, Ginny would recognize the exact moment when it all started changing. But she would look aside, hope working inside her that they could, once again, salvage this wreck. For Harry it would take months to accept the truth.

He would be standing on top of the Astronomy Tower with Snape’s hand on his chest when he would realize that he would never be normal. He would have a second before he was pushed over the edge, where he would recall this day. He would remember Ginny’s sweet scent, the taste of her lips, the curves of her hips. And in that one second, as his body would topple over the railing, he would realize that a normal life was far beyond his reach, yet he would not pity or miss the loss; he would revel in it.

 


	4. The Doe

## IV: The Doe 

 

Ron yawned next to him. Even Hermione was secretly reading the Quibbler. Was the Sorting Ceremony always this boring?

The Hat’s song was nothing more than a plea to accept the Slytherins, not that Harry didn’t agree, but he found it the least entertaining one so far. After the Hat finished its performance, McGonagall took the podium and was reading name after name, while scared children sat on a stool and took the Sorting Hat on their heads.

They were all incredibly tiny, having the same awestruck, excited yet fearful expression on their faces. Harry wondered what it must be like to enlist in a school where only few months ago a battle raged, where students these children would be dining with could tell stories of fighting Voldemort.

For the first time in his life, Harry wasn’t the only hero in the Great Hall. He was still, obviously, a face everyone tried to have a glimpse of, but he noticed more often than not that the same strange and curious glances Ron, Hermione, Neville, or even Snape, McGonagall, or Hagrid also received.

Ron even commented on it after a second year Ravenclaw sneaked up to him while they were waiting for the carriages and asked for a photo. He blushed and sent the boy away, then murmured, “Bloody hell, Harry. Is this how it’s going to be from now on?”

This was the first time Harry was present when Albus Dumbledore did not welcome the children. He felt a strange pang in his heart, as he looked up at the middle of the table to find Professor Snape there. His fingers tented, he seemed impatient as if he wanted the Welcoming Feast to be over as soon as possible.

But the names just kept coming and now even Harry’s belly was uncomfortably impatient. It gave a deep rumble that made Ginny rise her head from her arm. She giggled, rummaging in her pocket for a moment, then pulled out a candy bar she had bought on the Hogwarts train.

She broke off a piece then gave Harry a challenging glance. Harry grinned, opened his mouth and waited for the chocolate. She threw it, her aim perfect and Harry chomped on the toffee happily. The next piece was aimed a little over his head and he had to stretch to reach it, but he still succeeded. The one after that was too much on the left and it hit Ron straight on the face.

They managed to muffle their laughter, but they were still loud enough that a couple faces turned towards them. Harry bent his head slightly, and looked at the little blonde girl being sorted, pretending that he paid attention.

“Hufflepuff!” The Hat exclaimed and the whole table under the yellow and black flags started clapping.

Harry’s eyes wandered away even before the next child took her place on the stool. He watched the teachers, mostly Wallace who was amiably discussing something with Hagrid. Next to them Sprout sat, still lightly clapping, and then Snape.

Snape was glaring at him. His dark gaze had such intensity, Harry wanted to duck under the table to hide from it. Clearly, Snape had seen what they did and disapproved of it. And the moment he made sure that Harry understood that, his dark eyes already turned back to watch the next boy being sorted (into Slytherin).

Harry didn’t want to start the term with points taken from his House, so after that he stuck his eyes on the Hat and made sure to clap during the appropriate times.

“Where’s Professor Snape going?” Hermione whispered a few minutes later.

Harry was so focused on Jeremy Thomson’s sorting (Gryffindor) that he did not even notice as Snape stood up and slipped out of the room through the back-door Harry, too, had used after the Goblet of Fire spat out his name.

“Maybe he just needs to piss,” Ron said with a shrug. “Or maybe he went to throw himself off the Astronomy tower. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him; sorting has never been this long. I’m starving.”

Just as he finished the sentence, the last child took her seat as well, (Warren, Annabelle – Slytherin) and McGonagall said, “Let the feast begin.”

“Oh, all right,” Ron grinned, already ladling tons of chicken wings onto his plate.

“That was strangely quick, don’t you think, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry had to admit, it had been a while since he attended the Feast, but Dumbledore used to say a couple more words before the food appeared. “Maybe they do it differently, now.” He told Hermione, before some roasted duck had taken up all his attention.

“No,” she said quietly. “Look!”

She poked Harry in the ribs, who had to say goodbye to his duck as a fifth-years girl took the bowl and passed it along the table. He wretchedly looked after it, the scent of it haunting him for a few more seconds, then sighing, he turned towards where Hermione was still gazing at.

He managed to catch Professor McGonagall disappearing behind the same door Snape did.

“What’s going on?” he murmured, but Hermione didn’t have the answer to that.

They both watched the door for a couple more minutes, but nothing happened. No one else stood to leave, the other teachers stayed to enjoy the meal, yet Harry had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong. What if there was another attack? What if the blue glimmering light was back around Snape?

He looked at Ron and Hermione as he asked, “Should we…?” He didn’t have to finish the question, they knew what he meant.

Ron shook his head. “Harry, I’m sure they can deal with this on their own.”

Expectantly, Harry looked at Hermione, but she shook her head as well. “You can't just march in there, Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his friends, then turned back to his plate, taking some chicken and potatoes. He took a bite and chew, but he barely even felt any flavours, his mind was just too occupied. The _what if_ scenarios just didn’t let him eat in peace.

Determined, he stood, but then Ginny took his hand.

“Don’t go, Harry,” she said quietly. Her tone was oddly pleading, as if Harry would be off to war again and not just leaving the Great Hall.

“It will be fine, Gin,” He smiled and pulled his hand away.

She gave him a strange look, it wasn’t exactly cold, but it wasn’t even the loving one he got used to seeing during the last couple of weeks.

“It will be fine,” he repeated, now with a hint of laughter in his voice, too.

He turned his back on her, and just as he was about to head off towards the door, a familiar cat appeared in front of him. No one had noticed her, except their little group, and they even recognized her right away.

“Professor,” Harry whispered, squatting down to her. “What’s going on?”

The cat didn’t speak, didn’t even turn back to her human form, but she ran off, dashing unnoticed under tables. Harry knew exactly where to look to see her next.

Just as expected, she waited for him at the little back door behind the teacher’s table. Harry was ready to run after her, but then Hermione grabbed his arm. Even before he could ask what she wanted, she quickly drew her wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm on him.

Harry flinched as he felt the spell, like cold mud trickle, down his whole body.

“Go, Harry,” Hermione urged him. “And be careful.”

No one saw him as he ran through the Great Hall and the moment he arrived to the door, McGonagall shed her cat form and turned back into a human. She also cancelled the spell on Harry.

“Professor, what happened?” He asked.

There was a small cut on McGonagall’s forehead and blood was trickling from it. It scared Harry when he noticed it.

“Your wand, Mr. Potter,” she said urgingly, her voice high-pitched as if she would be slightly panicking. “We have no time.”

Harry pulled his wand from the holster and McGonagall opened the door and pushed him right through before Harry could even say a word, or perhaps ask for a little more information.

The door shut behind him and a spell blasted into the wall only inches from his face.

“Prepare your most advanced protection charms!” Came a barked order from across the room.

Harry would recognise Snape’s voice anywhere, but the cold, calculating edge was gone from his tone now. He was urging and anxious and Harry didn’t waste any moment. Immediately, he had a shield up, vibrating with a light blue force.

“Professor Snape, wha-” He couldn’t even finish, Snape shot another spell at him. The fiery ball of magic blasted against his shield enveloping it in blazing flames for a moment. Harry ducked, rolled away on the ground and hid behind a scorched table. Knowing the strength of Snape’s spells, he didn’t just lay faith in his cover but pulled up another shield as well.

It seemed to have been a good idea, as a moment later another blast incinerated the table, but his shield remained still luckily intact.

“What the hell is going on?” he snapped, brushing ash and cinder off his robes.

Snape was standing in a whirl of blue magic, his wand, like a bottomless mouth from hell was spiting fire into a big hearth.

“Professor?” Harry asked, trying to move closer.

That had finally seemed to work and gain Snape’s attention though Harry wasn’t happy. Another spell flew his way and it busted his shield right through. Harry jumped away, sliding on broken glass and splintered wood, then took cover in a little nook between walls.

“I cannot control it,” Snape cried finally. The electric blue light around him waved and pulsed as if wanting to burst. It seemed to Harry that Snape had a shield around him too, almost like a bubble, but its function differed from Harry’s.

While Harry wanted to repel spells, Snape seemed to want to contain whatever magic was spilling out of him.

“What is this?” Harry shouted back. It must have been a spell, he thought. Wallace must have cursed Snape. The man didn’t care that the professor might get hurt, or even anyone else it appeared. “Should I get Wallace to cancel it?” He offered.

“Don’t move!” Snape shouted back. “Attack me!”

“What?” Harry asked back and, in his surprise, even his shield gave in and collapsed. It was the worst time for Harry to lose concentration, because another spell came from Snape’s direction, and it blasted into the wall near Harry’s shoulder. The explosion sent him flying half way across the room. He felt an incredible pain in his arm.

“Shield!” Snape ordered and Harry felt a frightened edge to his voice.

Harry could barely see Snape’s face through all the dust, smoke and the bubble of electric, pulsing magic.

“I’m all right, thanks for asking,” He murmured as he ducked behind another half-broken table. He cast a quick spell on his bleeding arm, then conjured yet another shield.

“Attack!” Snape demanded urgently, snarling at Harry from across the room.

Harry frowned, taking a couple of deep breathes. It was one thing that he was tossed into the room and could have literally died the first second. He could forgive that, desperate measures and all.

But to have Snape shouting at him for not attacking a professor, and moreover not giving even a single bloody reason why Harry had to be in this room fighting, what seemed like for his life, instead of being outside eating roasted duck was something Harry found infuriating.

“I can’t just attack you, sir!” he shouted.

“Potter!” Snape yelled back, furious. “Of course, you can. You have done it before,” came the mocking reply. “This time at least I’m asking for it!”

Harry sighed, then stood up, facing Snape. There was a grimace on his face, one he knew would only make Snape even more manic, but then again, he doubted this could get any worse.

“You’re always asking for it, sir, usually you’re just a bit more subtle,” he said then attacked Snape.

It was intense. Snape didn’t even have to duck; the electric magic took care of most of the onslaught. It burst out from the shield-like sphere and seemed to have swallowed up Harry’s charms one by one. Snape’s wand was still spitting fire and it took Harry a couple of moment to realize, the previous spells that had turned this room into a wreck did not came directly from Snape, or at least not intentionally. If he moved, his magic seemed to recoil and send a wave of those fiery balls all across the room.

He sent spell after spell, he sent everything in his arsenal at Snape, but the man did not even flinch. Yet it seemed they were achieving something, because after a couple of minutes, Harry noticed a crack on the blue bubble.

“You’re trying to overload it!” He shouted between ducking away from two discharged balls of pure magic.

“Brilliant observation, Mr. Potter, now please do shut up and keep attacking!” Snape answered.

He had to hold his wand with two hands now, and Harry assumed that was the only way out for his overloaded magic.

“You make it way too easy, Professor **,** ” Harry said sending two disarming charms at Snape, but both were swallowed by the bubble. “A couple of more nice words like that and I’ll even start enjoying this.”

Snape’s expression darkened and a larger crack appeared on the bubble-like force surrounding him. It was either because of the Expelliarmus spells or more likely, Harry was just making Snape angrier with every minute. How that was even possible, Harry didn’t know, but it seemed Snape’s hatred for him was about as intense as his raging magic.

“You better not take points for this, sir.” Harry murmured and made the broken tables, chairs and all the leftover debris lift in the air and sent it all flying at Snape at the top speed of a Seeker doing a perfect Wronski Feint. Then he ducked behind his shield awaiting the recoil of such a harsh attack.

He didn’t have to wait long. The bubble of restraint magic burst, and it rushed through the room like an electric wave. It knocked Harry over and made the hairs on his arm, at least those that weren’t stuck in blood, all stand up. The whole air felt as if it was charged with electricity.

Snape was kneeling on the floor, his whole skin still glowing with blue light. It made him look paler than usual, even though he had a pink tint on his cheek as he was panting from the effort.

Harry pushed himself up from the ground, the motion painstakingly hard as every inch of his body hurt, and tried to walk towards the professor, but then Snape looked up, dark eyes piercing Harry through long black hair and he hissed, “Attack.”

Harry’s steps halted. “I think you had enough, Professor,” he said quietly.

Snape watched him, lips pulling into a sneer. The blue light pulsed around his body, stronger with every second. Harry could taste the electricity in the air.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Snape spat and pushed himself away from the ground, fast like lighting, hurling spells at Harry’s head.

Harry’s only luck was that he saw it coming the moment Snape’s long fingers tightened on his black wand. His shield took most of the damage, then he rolled away from the rest of the onslaught. He was back on his feet the next second, sending Disarming Charms Snape’s way nonverbally. He had learnt a long time ago that he had no chance against Snape if he kept shouting the spells he was about to use.

It felt almost like fighting Voldemort, though Harry knew (hoped) that Snape wasn’t after his life. They ducked, and danced away from the other’s spell, pulled up magical shields or had pieces of table float in front of them to take the damage. Sometimes they had to take cover from even their own spells as some had bounced back from Hogwarts walls that were soaked through with magic.

That gave Harry an idea.

“Stupor!” He shouted, knowing Snape would counter the spell right away, but it gave him a second to sneak a Disarming Charm past his defences. The angle was perfect as the charm ricocheted off the wall it slammed right against Snape’s back, sending his wand flying.

Harry caught it in the air, then ran to Snape, who was knocked over by the force of Harry’s _Expelliarmus_.

“Are you all right, sir?” He asked kneeling next to the man.

“I’m fine now, Mr. Potter, thank you.” Snape answered, breathing heavily.

The blue glow disappeared completely and with it, his fierce attitude too, it seemed. Snape looked exhausted as he sat up.

Harry gave him back his wand, while he restored the room to its original form. As chairs and tables mended themselves and broken glass reformed itself, Harry pulled Snape up from the ground and made him sit in a chair. He conjured a glass, filled it with water and pressed it in Snape’s hand.

“I would greatly appreciate it, if this stayed between us,” the man commented quietly. His gaze avoided Harry who found it rather disturbing. He wasn’t used to seeing Snape defeated and he sure as hell didn’t feel like that was what just happened here.

“Of course, sir.” He promised. “I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey now, shall I?”

“There’s no need, Mr. Potter.” Snape shook his head, but Harry would have none of that.

“It’s all right, you just sit and rest here.” He said then turned to leave.

“No need,” Snape refused again, then tried to stand up. “I’ll manage now.”

Harry pushed him back onto the chair with surprising gentleness given how angry he just became. He had just spent whoever knew how much time to beat the crap out of Snape, he wouldn’t let the man just walk it off.

“I said sit and rest, Professor. It was not a request.” He said firmly then turned to get the mediwitch.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said quietly, and with a frustrated sigh Harry turned back.

Snape was holding his hand out, and for a moment Harry thought he forgot to give the man his wand back, but then Snape said. “Your arm.”

Harry looked at his bleeding arm, then, hesitantly, as he couldn’t know if it was a good idea to have Snape perform magic already, he just said, “I can take care of that.”

“I know. Give me your arm, Potter.” He sounded tame, very un-Snape-like. It was probably just because of the fatigue.

When Harry wavered again, Snape said a little more authoritatively, “It was not a request either.”

With a huff, Harry let Snape take his arm. The moment their skin touched there was an electric zap between them, probably just some left over residue from the fight.

Snape healed Harry’s injury perfectly and it seemed it didn’t even overcharge him. The blueness stayed away, and Harry was very grateful for that.

“Any other injury I should be aware of?” He asked and when Harry shook his head, he was finally released.

“I’ll… uhm… I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey then.” Harry said backing towards the door.

“I’ll be here,” Snape sighed, leaning back on the chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Sitting and resting.”

He didn’t have to go far, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were waiting outside the door. They both heaved a sigh when they saw him step out, then the professor even pulled him in a surprising half hug, before she held Harry in arm’s length, hawkish hands grasping his shoulders and her worried gaze urgently assessing every inch on Harry’s body for wounds.

“Are you all right, Potter?” she asked, when she didn’t see any injury.

“Yes, Professor,” he assured her. “But Professor Snape might need a hand.”

McGonagall looked over his head. Snape must have been watching them, because she nodded her head to him as if agreeing to something, before she turned back to Harry.

“Go back to your friends now, Harry,” she said, letting him finally go. “And talk to no one about what happened here.”

As Harry scampered through the empty Great Hall, darting towards the Gryffindor tower, all he could think about was that hopefully by now both McGonagall and Snape knew that there was no way he would keep this a secret from Ron and Hermione.

Just as he hoped, his friends were waiting for him in the Tower. Before he could, however, even climb in, Hermione appeared at the portrait hole with a plate of fried chicken, roasted duck, and mashed potatoes. Ron was right behind her carrying a bottle of pumpkin juice and platter of pudding, though the pile of cakes, biscuits and desserts was getting smaller and smaller.

Far away, in the very back of the Common Room, Ginny was sitting at the fire with Neville. She looked at their way, watched as Hermione and Ron climbed out, but did not move to join them. A part of Harry felt hurt, wondering whether she did not care at all that he was all right or not. Another part, however, was grateful, because would she join, he couldn’t say a word. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t trust her, simply that he felt that disclosing something to Ron and Hermione wasn’t breaking his promise but telling it to Ginny would.

He nodded towards her, then followed Hermione.

“This way,” Hermione said, leading the trio to an empty classroom, where they couldn’t be overheard.

Once they were sitting and Harry took a bite from the duck to settle his rumbling stomach, he told them everything from the moment he stepped into the room and saw Snape.

By the time he finished his story, all the plates were empty. Ron assisted with that task a bit.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Harry said, probably for the millionth time. “But it was scary.”

“I bet it was,” Ron shuddered. “Being in the same room as Snape is scary enough, but you were at his wandpoint.”

“I never heard of anything like this…” Hermione commented, thinking.

Harry was certain she was already planning a trip to the Library.

“I’m curious what excuse Snape will give.” Ron said, standing up and stretching. He yawned and so did Harry. This was a long day. “If this Wallace really did curse him, I don’t know what the hell he’s still doing here.”

“Snape never should have let him teach here,” Harry grunted.

“I guess, we’ll figure out tomorrow what happened,” Hermione said, waving her wand and sending the dirty plates and empty glasses back to the kitchen.

“Yeah… Let’s go to bed,” Harry agreed, swallowing back another yawn. “Oh, did they say anything important after the Feast?” He asked.

“Oh yeah,” Ron grinned. “The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds for everyone who do not wish to die a horrible death. Would you have guessed?”

Laughing, they returned to the empty Common Room. Harry wanted to say goodnight to Ginny, but she wasn’t there. Hermione offered to go call her down, but Harry shook his head. He was too tired, his muscles were aching from all the strenuous jumping and rolling.

Yet, when he finally went to bed and was lying in their dorm listening to his classmates’ snores, sleep eluded him for hours. The only thing that calmed him was that, for sure, tomorrow he would have his answers.

o.O.o

The next morning, Harry woke full of energy. He was anxious but excited to find out what was going on, and if Snape was doing all right. He thought to check on the professor in the Infirmary and almost smiled to himself, remembering the beginning of the summer when that was how all his mornings started. Then he realized, Snape seemed fine after the fight, even if exhausted, so he probably was allowed to sleep in his own room.

So instead, he waited for Ginny, feeling a little guilty for leaving her out last night, and they went down to have breakfast together. She never asked about the incident, for which Harry was very grateful, and she didn’t even seem angry with him. It was as if she understood that Harry couldn’t talk about it.

When they entered the Great Hall, Harry’s eyes immediately went to look for Snape but the man wasn’t present. His high-backed chair between Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout was empty and Harry’s stomach made an upset little twitch. Could it be that Snape did end up in the Infirmary?

Harry could barely eat, but, mostly to calm Ginny, he did chew on a buttered toast. Hermione and Ron joined them not much later, Ron ladling his plate with pancakes, while Hermione and Ginny started talking about lessons already.

Harry watched McGonagall expectantly. Surely, soon she would stand up and come talk to him, right? She finished her breakfast, chatted some with Vector and then Hagrid. As they talked, Hagrid looked at Harry, who had the distinct feeling that he was the morning topic.

When Hagrid noticed Harry was watching them, he waved brightly, his smile covered by his beard, but his beetle black eyes were glinting. Harry smiled back, then McGonagall looked his way, too. She collected some papers from the table and finally started walking towards Harry.

Harry jumped from his seat and walked up to her.

“Good morning, Professor.”

“Good morning, Mr. Potter.” She smiled with tight lips. She handed him a couple of cards and Harry looked down hopeful, but it was only the timetables. His was on top, then Ginny’s and Hermione’s then Ron’s then a couple more people’s in their dormitory.

“Kingsley tried to get you exempt from Defence Against the Dark Arts, but we specifically want you to attend the lesson. Your practical knowledge might be way ahead, but your theoretical is behind.” She told him.

“Yes, I told Kingsley as much.” Harry nodded.

“I talked to Professor Wallace and he is willing to excused you from lessons involving spells you already know, however, he says, he wouldn’t mind giving you some extra credit, if you were willing to help him out instead. As I hear, it would not be the first time you teach.”

“Wait, Professor Wallace wants me to assist during his lessons?”

“It would be beneficial for the classes to have more than one lecturer helping them perform a spell. You wouldn’t need to assist during the academic parts, unless you would be interested in doing so. But you would have to take that up with him, I’m afraid.” She looked down on the cards still in her hand, then added, “You can talk to him tomorrow after your first lesson, or if you can't wait, visit him in his classroom after lunch today. He will have some free time then.”

“Oh…” was all Harry could say.

“Help me with those, if you will,” she said nodding at the timetables in Harry’s hand, then headed towards a group of first-year Gryffindors.

“Professor?” Harry called after her, confused.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” She looked back.

Harry moved closer and lowered his voice. “Aren’t we going to talk about Professor Snape?”

She sniffed, her lips tightening. “There is nothing to talk about, Harry.”

“Where is he? Is he ill?” Harry asked.

“Ill? Certainly not.”

“Why isn’t he…” Harry looked towards to head table, desperate and wondering if he had just missed Snape during the first half an hour, he was staring that way.

The professor followed his gaze, then said, “The headmaster is very busy, Mr. Potter. He already had breakfast.” Then she walked away, as if they had discussed everything of importance.

Harry didn’t get any explanations that day, or even that week. In fact, he didn’t receive any explanation regarding the incident for a month and by that time, with all the lessons and homework, he almost forgot there had been an incident with Snape at all.

He watched Snape during breakfast and lunch and dinner, watched him when they happened to meet on the corridors, but there was no blue light around Snape, no heavy electricity in the air when he appeared. Snape was his usual, morose and strict self, scaring first- and second-years to cower against the wall whenever he would sweep through a corridor, always in a hurry.

Then during a quiet evening, in the first week of October, when Harry was sitting on the soft carpet of the common room, his head resting against Ginny’s knee, a Patronus appeared. There were only a handful of people around, most of them half asleep over their books and none of them noticing the doe Patronus.

Ginny looked up, but not even she knew whom it came from. Harry did of course. He would recognize it anywhere, as he would his own stag.

The doe opened her mouth and a deep voice said, “Come with me.”


	5. Equal Forces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey Lovelies! Just wanted to let you know, that I'll try to keep the updates regular while working (i was on a short holiday, that's why you get this chapter reasonably on time) but it might mean i wont be able to answer all the comments before i post the new chapters (you may have already noticed this, and I'm sorry) I do read them though and they make me very happy, so please keep them coming ❤❤  
>  Also, i just noticed that I forgot to add the tag " **emotional infidelity** " but that will happen in later chapters, so if that bothers you (bear with me, it will be worth it), i'm sorry. _
> 
> _PS: I fucking hate summer. Why is it so hot here? I need a desert surviving kit to function in this stupid city. I was not made for this. I'm the child of spring. Of sunshine and cool breezes, not these death rays. Why? WHy? Send water. And a pool. Or a sea. Thanks._

## V: Equal Forces 

 

It was close to midnight and thankfully the corridors were quiet and empty. The doe’s bright light lit the way, thus Harry didn’t even need his wand or even the torches on the wall. She dashed silently on the stone floor, but Harry’s feet made a loud noise every time it hit the cold ground. He was afraid that he would draw attention to himself, though he hoped only professors or, perhaps, Filch and Mrs. Norris would walk the hallways this late and surely, they would let him go, if they saw his escort.

They were not going towards the Headmaster’s office, and Harry was apprehensive already. Where was Snape’s doe leading him? They ran up stairs and turned corners until Harry couldn’t even tell where he was in the dark anymore.

Then, suddenly, the doe disappeared, bringing a deep darkness to the corridor. Pulling his wand, Harry cast Lumos, then looked around.

Paintings winced in the light of his wand, but one, a young girl in a blue dress stepped closer to her frame. Harry walked to the painting to inspect it.

It was nothing special. The young girl must have been a rich witch once, long ago. She had a pretty necklace around her throat, and as she eyed Harry, she smiled. She was very beautiful with her white skin and blond hair. She looked to the side, then winked at Harry.

Harry turned to see what was there and noticed a door. It was almost invisible, especially in the dark and he would have missed it, if not for her. He went there, took a deep breath and opened it.

It was semi-dark in there, only a couple of torches were lit.

The brightest spot was, as Harry expected, Snape. The glimmering blue light was all across his body, shining a bit more luminously over bare skin, while it seemed slightly dimmed where Snape was covered with clothes.

Without being asked, Harry pointed his wand at him.

“Again?” he asked.

“Attack,” Snape said, resigned.

Back when he was young and living with the Dursleys’, sometimes when his relatives were away, he could watch anything he wanted in the telly. Once, he found a sports channel where he saw two men. They were fencing. The memory came back to him vividly now, as he snapped his wand or pointed it at Snape, only thinking the spells he used.

Lunge – parry – riposte – it was simple as that. Except it wasn’t. Snape’s attack seemed to have been charged with electricity. Their force was greater than what Harry was used to. Even a simple _Stupor_ that he blocked with a _Shield Charm_ sent him staggering back a couple of feet.

“Are you asleep, Potter?” Snape barked at him angrily, when one of his spells passed Harry’s head only inches away, singeing his hair.

“Well, yeah, I’d rather be in bed, sir,” Harry admitted ducking behind a desk, casting several spells from there blindly. He had some cuts already on his hand, mostly on his palm as he was deflecting Snape’s magic with ducking to the ground which was covered with debris.

It didn’t take as long this time. Given he did not need to break through the blue bubble. Snape actually had to repel all his spells then fight back. Gradually, the force of his spells lessened and soon Harry almost started to enjoy the fight. Then it was over.

The _Impedimenta_ Harry had cast broke through Snape’s force and hit him right in the chest. He was crashed against the wall with a loud knock then fell to the ground, motionlessly which scared Harry. He ran there, but by the time he reached Snape, the man was already leaning up on his elbows. He was grunting, taking deep breathes. His eyes were closed, his head hanging back as if even lifting it from the ground would have made him dizzy.

Harry knelt down and tried to help Snape sit up with placing a hand on his arm and another hand on the back of his head.

Snape’s hair pooled in his palm as he tried to lift the head. It was surprisingly soft, like feathers.

“You’re good now, sir?” Harry asked while he gently tugged Snape up, making him lean against the wall.

“For now, Mr. Potter.” Snape grunted, then finally his endless black eyes opened and he pulled away from Harry’s touch. He stood up, steadying himself against the wall for a moment, then looked for a chair to sit down.

The devastation wasn’t as bad this time, but the empty, unused classroom sure could benefit from a renovation. Snape raised his wand and Harry almost told him not to do anything, afraid that the blue glimmering light would return, but by the time he opened his mouth, the room started organizing itself, and two chairs appeared.

Snape collapsed on one, propping his elbows on his knees. He stared at the ground and Harry suspected it was time he left the man to himself.

Instead however, he turned the other chair around and straddled it.

He waited patiently. He knew he would not leave until he got some answers and he was out after curfew with permission, so it wasn’t like he had to hurry for some reason.

After a while, when Snape’s breathing returned to normal, he lifted his head and looked at Harry. His gaze still had the effect that made Harry think he missed a line while brewing a potion, making his work all worthless.

“Why the hell are you still here, Potter?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you get a prize or something when you win a duel?” He asked lightly. “Or you know, maybe I’m waiting for you to finally tell me what the hell is going on.”

Snape glared at him, and Harry almost got ready for another fight, but then Snape took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Goodbye, Mr. Potter.” He said then in a voice that sounded only slightly irritated.

Harry took that as a good sign. Things like he had just said would have earn him a yearlong detention, but not now it seemed.

“Professor,” he started, being very careful of what he was saying. “I’m fine with doing this, but it would be nice to know why you’re using me as your punching bag.”

Snape looked at him as if Harry had just slapped him. Apparently, this wasn’t the best thing to say.

“Are you injured?” The professor asked urgingly.

“What? No,” answered Harry. “This is nothing.” He said showing Snape his palm for only a second. It really was nothing. Next to all the burn marks and other scars that covered his body, a couple of cuts and bruises really were nothing. Even if they bled a little.

“Give me your hand,” came the order.

Harry all but expected it. He might have been used as a punching bag, but Snape would make sure he wasn’t hurt, that was clear. It was nice of him, Harry thought. It was also something Harry could use against him.

He pushed his chair further away from Snape, just so he would be out of his reach.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Eyes wide, looking honestly flabbergasted Snape stared at him for a moment. Then he jumped up, way faster than Harry had expected him given how exhausted he was just a moment ago. He managed to snatch Harry’s hand out of the air. He had a triumphant glimmer in his eyes for a second, but, as their skin touched, there was another spark of magic between them, and Harry pulled back his hand right away.

“Ouch,” he hissed, shaking his hand in the air a bit. For a moment it almost felt like he was burned, but then nothing. There was no sign of a blister and even his previous bruises and cuts disappeared.

Snape’s wand clattered on the floor. “I… I apologize.” He said, and his tone of voice made Harry look back up at him.

Snape was scared, and even worse, there was a blue shimmer around him again. _That_ scared Harry, too.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” he assured the man. “You didn’t hurt me. It was just unexpected.”

He held out his hand for Snape to inspect. “See, you healed me. It was just a bit more… intense than what I expected.”

As Snape took his hand again and examined it at the torch’s light to see no injury there, the light thankfully disappeared again from around his body.

Harry was released from the cage of cold fingers, but Snape didn’t sit back down.

“Does it only happen when you’re scared?” Harry asked carefully.

“It’s like accidental magic.” Snape answered quietly. “When my emotions run high, I cannot seem to control it.”

“Oh, surely that never happens. Sir, you’re the most patient and calm person I’ve ever known.” Harry deadpanned.

Snape snorted and gave a light cuff around the back of Harry’s head, who just laughed quietly.

“Off to bed with you now, Potter. You’ll have some important decisions to make tomorrow.”

Harry stood but didn’t leave. He watched Snape who had his back to Harry, arms crossed across his chest.

“Professor Snape, I-“

“I can't hear you walking away, Potter.”

“Sir, I just-“

“That’s five points from Gryffindor, Potter.” Snape said calmly. “If you don’t start walking, it will be ten.”

“What?” Harry grunted indignant. “You should be giving me points, not taking them!”

“And we’re at ten points,” Snape commented as he faced Harry. There was a smug smirk on his face and though the situation infuriated Harry, he was glad to see his old professor back. “I do wonder if you ever _earn_ points for your House as well, Mr. Potter, or you just lose them.”

Mouth agape, he finally took a step back, then another.

He was already outside the door, when he stopped again and looked back. Snape raised an eyebrow and threateningly said, “Would you like another fifteen points taken?”

“Hell, no.” Harry said quickly with a smile. “But if you need a punching bag, you know where to find me.”

With that he was out of the door.

o.O.o

The next morning, right after their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson Harry even understood what Snape meant when he talked about important decisions.

“Mr. Potter, would you mind staying behind for a moment?” Professor Wallace requested once the lesson was over.

To Harry’s greatest disappointment, Wallace wasn’t the horrible teacher he expected him to be. He was strict enough and gave almost as much homework as McGonagall, but it was understandable, given his subject was one of the most important ones. But they didn’t just learn about spells, they regularly practised them, and as far as Harry heard, Wallace was perfectly happy to give extra lessons to anyone who felt they needed more practice. He was funny, and Harry actually had fun during the lessons, which practically didn’t happen to him since Lupin was a professor at Hogwarts.

Wallace had spent the first month of the semester to bring everyone up to the same level. Given what kind of teachers they had, he made sure everyone was on the level they were supposed to be, before he went on with the more advanced spells. Casting non-verbally seemed to be a problem still for some of the class, but other than that Harry was surprised how well the others performed, given it was not _Defence_ they had studied last year, but just _Dark Arts_.

Professor Wallace waited for everyone to stream out of his classroom before he gave Harry a light smile, and said, “So, Mr. Potter, do you remember our conversation from the first week of school?”

Harry nodded. He had gone to Wallace after their first lesson together, but they only agreed on talking about things when they became more relevant. It seemed the time had come.

“Very well,” Wallace continued. “The next lesson we will dedicate entirely to spell casting. We’ll go through every spell you had learned during the six years; non-verbal casting will be allowed only.”

As he talked, he leaned against his desk. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, but his tattoo was barely visible on his darker skin. His dreadlocks were pulled back into a bun on the top of his head. He had an unguarded, casual air around him and Harry suddenly could not say how this man could be the same as the one arguing with Snape back in the Infirmary.

“Tell me, Mr. Potter, why does Miss Holloway have a problem with non-verbal spells?” Wallace asked.

Harry’s first instinct was to say, ‘ _how the hell should I know_ ,’ but then he realized, he did actually notice why.

“Because she’s paying too much attention to her wand-movement. She’s continuously trying to do it as perfectly as you do.”

“How would you correct her?”

“You can't just tell her not to care that much about her wand, can you?” Harry asked.

Wallace laughed, “No, I’m afraid, you can’t.”

Harry thought for a while, then said, “I would ask her to close her eyes. If she can't see it, she won’t care that the motion isn’t a perfect copy of what you or anyone does.”

“What makes you think the spell would still work?”

“It does for me,” Harry said simply.

“It’s easy for you, you’re an exceptional wizard, Mr. Potter.” Wallace said nonchalantly. It still made Harry blush slightly. “But Miss Holloway’s forte is Potions.”

That made Harry laugh. When Wallace raised a questioning eyebrow at him, he said, “It explains why she’s trying to copy you. Potions requires you to do everything by the line. That’s why I used to suck at it.” The sentence slipped out before he could stop himself, but Wallace wasn’t bothered by his language.

There was a small smile lurking at the corner of his lips even, as he just asked, “And?”

“And Defence isn’t like that. You can do a spell by the book, execute it perfectly, but if there’s no intend behind it, nothing will happen. Like with the Cruciatus – you have to _really_ mean it.”

Wallace considered Harry for a moment, then finally smiled at him. “It’s not just fame after all. You do have a deeper understanding, though it’s still mostly instinctive.”

It surprised Harry that Wallace doubted him, but he felt slightly proud that he could prove himself to the man.

“I offer you a deal, Mr. Potter.” Wallace said at last. “You’re welcome to stay away from the next class as you have proven to me over and over again, that you know the spells and non-verbal casting as well. But, if you show up this Friday, I let you assist me during the lesson. If by the end of the lesson Miss Holloway can cast even _Bombarda_ nonverbally, you earn your House twenty-five points.”

Harry allowed himself a smile as well. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’m not finished,” Wallace said before Harry would turn to leave. “If you succeed, I wouldn’t mind having you as my permanent assistant. Professor Snape told me that you aspire to be an Auror.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry nodded.

“If you would like, I could give you some extra material to study that would help you to assist me with the lectures, and they would come handy in the Auror training as well. I know perfectly well how much energy your N.E.W.T.s demand, and I promise not to overload you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why would you do this, sir?”

“You’re a bright young man, Harry. You have immense potential in you. As a teacher my task is to improve not just those who cannot cast a spell nonverbally, but offer a challenge for those as well, who defeated a Dark Lord.”

Harry studied Professor Wallace warily. He didn’t want to like the man, but he seemed to be doing everything to change Harry’s initial opinion of him.

“I know I came across a little hostile earlier this summer,” Wallace said then suddenly and Harry wanted to refute him, but Wallace didn’t let him. “Don’t worry. Our opinion might not be the same on some subjects but let me tell you the same thing Professor Snape had told me. Do not let your personal emotions stand in the way of helping others – or in this case, even helping yourself – improve.”

Harry stood there in front of Wallace, but he was not thinking about the professor’s offer, but about what had possessed a seemingly decent man like him to attack a wandless, ill person, even if they had the Dark Mark on them.

“I might not like you yet, sir,” Harry said honestly, looking at the deep brown, kind eyes. “But I’m always glad to learn from someone like you.”

Wallace laughed then clapped his hands together. “ _That_ I can work with, Mr. Potter.”

o.O.o

That same evening, as Harry was doing his Transfiguration homework, an owl appeared in the Common Room window. Some first-year girl shrieked frightened at the owl’s loud knock on the glass, but then let in the bird. It flew directly towards Harry, dropped a letter into his lap, then swished out as fast as it came.

Harry turned the letter over in his hand, but it did not have any name on it, not even his own.

Hermione examined it too, then shrugged and said, “Open it.”

Just to be sure, Harry took out his wand so it was close enough if he needed it, then broke the seal and opened the envelope. There was a small piece of parchment inside. It was short and to the point.

_Come to my office._

There wasn’t even a signature, not that Snape needed it, Harry would recognize his small letters anywhere. He had studied them enough in his sixth year.

As there was no exact time mentioned in the letter, he assumed this meant now. So he proceeded to pack up all his things, kissed Ginny goodbye, in case this was about another fight with Snape and he would return late, and then headed to the Headmaster’s office.

It was still before curfew, but he didn’t come across many students. He had met Neville, who was returning from the Library and they spoke a few sentences about the Transfiguration homework, but then Harry resumed his walk.

Once in front of the statue, he realized he didn’t know the password. “Dumbledore?” He tried again, hoping that it remained unchanged.

To his surprise the gargoyle came alive and moved aside, but then it turned out only to let Professor McGonagall out.

“Oh, Potter, you’re here. Good, he’s waiting for you.”

With that she escorted Harry up to Snape’s study.

There wasn’t much change in here since Dumbledore’s time, perhaps more books took up the shelves and less knick-knacks ticked around the room. Snape was sitting behind the great desk writing a letter, but when he noticed Harry and Professor McGonagall, he placed his quill back into the ink, and leaned back.

“Good evening,” Harry said hesitantly. He felt as if he had done something wrong, but as far as he could recall, he was a decently good student nowadays.

Unless, if this was about Wallace’s offer. Could it be that Snape didn’t like the idea that Harry would help the Defence professor? Surely the man knew that it didn’t mean he was siding with Wallace regarding his views of ex-Death Eaters.

Carefully, Harry looked at Snape, then at McGonagall. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked quietly from his Head of House.

McGonagall rolled her eyes, then said, “I’ll leave you to it, Severus. And remember, whatever happens, just stay calm. Some of these trinkets are really old, not to mention expensive.”

Harry almost laughed out, because that little jab seemed to anger Snape more than Harry’s presence altogether.

“Sit down, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, while McGonagall left them.

“Is this about Professor Wallace’s offer?” Harry asked pre-emptively.

Snape frowned. “Absolutely not. What you do in your free time does not concern me. As long, of course, as it is within the school’s rules.” There was an unsaid, _not that you care about that_ , Harry heard clearly from his tone.

“But you don’t approve?” He asked. Why it mattered he wasn’t certain.

“What I don’t approve of is overconfident students out of their class, Mr. Potter.” Snape said and suddenly Harry had a suspicion that the whole assisting the lecture idea wasn’t Wallace’s own merit entirely.

“But this is not why I asked you to come here tonight,” Snape said sighing. “Drink?”

“What?”

“Would you care for a drink?”

“You asked me here to have a drink?”

“No, but I would like a drink and Professor Dumbledore is always kind enough to remind me that it is not polite to drink alone when one has company.”

Harry looked up at said wizard who was quietly snoring in his frame, though the corner of his lips were pulling up as if he were having a pleasant dream.

“Uhm, sure. Tea please.” Harry said in the end.

Snape rolled his eyes. “I mean whiskey, wine, or the like, Potter.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Whiskey, then.”

This was something new and unexpected, and it made Harry think that whatever he was ordered here to talk about had to be either very uncomfortable for Snape or very important. Or both.

Snape stood and poured whiskey in two tumblers handing one to Harry. His fingers were still very cold like after duelling and Harry wondered if that meant he could expect the blue light to appear any moment now.

“What’s this about, sir?” He asked taking a sip. It burned his throat like hell, but it wasn’t as unpleasant as he remembered.

Snape took a seat, downed his whiskey in one go then blurted, “I need your help.”

Given their past, or more likely Snape’s past with James Potter, Harry understood why it was hard for Snape to say that. On the other hand, however, Snape had saved his life numerous times, moreover Harry had spent hours reading to his unconscious body during the summer. The fact that after all that Snape still felt like betraying himself and everything he believed in just by saying that one sentence, made Harry very annoyed.

He felt angry and disappointed, but he only said, “All right, go on.”

“That’s it?”

“What?” Harry asked back letting his annoyance show. “Did you expect me to gloat and laugh or what?”

“Oh yes, I have momentarily forgotten what a grown man you are now.” Snape answered and there wasn’t even a trace of seriousness in his voice. It was filled with scornful mocking.

“Funny, isn’t it? Who knew a war and killing people wasn’t just sunshine and rainbows.” Harry said dryly.

In the deafening silence, he took another sip.

After a couple of awkward seconds, Snape finally apologized.

“I’m sorry,” he said and to Harry’s utter surprise it actually sounded genuine. “This is exactly why I believe that you could not help me.”

“With that blue thing around you.” Harry supplied.

“That blue _thing_ is my magic, Mr. Potter. It has become unstable.”

“Why?”

“We can only suspect why. When I restored the castle’s magic, it drained my powers. When we were attacked it messed things up even more. It seems after I became unconscious Hogwarts tapped into my magic to further help heal itself. That is the reason it took me more than a month to wake up. However, since I have returned, I feel like I have more power than I used to. More power than I know how to control. That is what you witnessed.”

Snape lifted his fisted hand in the air then opened it. On his palm a turquoise globe of magic sat, vibrating like electricity.

“It seems, Mr. Potter, that once healed, Hogwarts has given me back more than what was taken.”

Snape seemed pensive for a moment, then he closed his palm and the ball was gone. Harry’s eyes went wide. He remembered perfectly that a ball like that was effortlessly capable to blast a hole in the wall, yet Snape handled the immense amount of energy as if it was nothing.

“What you assisted with on the first of September was the worst incident so far. I can repress it for a while, but if my magic does not get challenged somehow, it turns into this bubble of devastating force. Professor McGonagall tried to get through it, but the recoil had burst through her shield easily.”

“But it didn’t have such an easy job with mine,” Harry said nodding. “Which is why you came straight to me yesterday.”

“Exactly. I am afraid, unlike Professor Wallace, I cannot offer anything in return of your services except that I will take care of your injuries after our fights, which I know is very little.”

“I’ll do it,” said Harry easily.

“You don’t understand, Potter,” Snape said. “I cannot guarantee your safety. You felt this power. I cannot control it. What I am asking you to do stands against common sense. You cannot agree to it.”

“I thought your job here was to talk me into doing this,” laughed Harry.

“I need you to understand perfectly what I am asking you to do.”

“Then tell me what exactly it is.”

“Fight me to exhaustion. It is like a boiling cauldron. I can deal with it for a while, but I need someone to help me put out the fire beneath it, before it explodes.” His face darkened as he added, “And you need to be prepared to protect yourself in case the cauldron explodes in your face.”

“I have one condition,” Harry said after taking a moment to think it through. “You come to me right away. It was a lot easier last night because you weren’t so pent up, yet. So, the moment you start glowing, you call for me, deal?”

“You cannot agree to this, Potter, your life will be at risk every time we meet.”

Confused, Harry leaned forward onto the desk and looked the man in the eyes.

“I don’t get it, Professor. Do you need my help or not?”

“I need your help, Potter, but that does not mean I like it.”

“What’s the alternative?” Harry asked. “You leave? Clearly you cannot give back the magic to Hogwarts, or we wouldn’t have this conversation. You cannot go to anyone else, because they get injured. You don’t need to like it, but you must accept that I’m the only one who can help you. And I would gladly do it.”

Snape watched Harry for a while, but when he didn’t seem to change his mind Snape nodded.

“Day and night, no matter what time it is, you come to me right away,” Harry said again.

“You needn’t worry, Mr. Potter. I won't endanger anyone.”

“I know,” Harry stated. “I am asking this to make sure you won't endanger yourself either.”

Snape’s expression was unreadable, and he didn’t say anything. Instead, he poured them some more whiskey.

They toasted, then he quietly said, “And thus, it seems Harry Potter has become my equal.”

Harry laughed taking a sip. “Does it bother you?”

Snape downed his drink and shuddered. “Not as much as I thought it would.”

In the silence, as Harry sipped his drink, Snape stared out the dark windows. His long black hair glinted in the candle light. A thought occurred to Harry and he smiled over the brim of his glass.

“What could you possibly find entertaining in all this?” Snape grunted, dark eyes on Harry the next moment.

“Just, the irony, sir.” Harry grinned. “Second time in my life that a black haired, half-blood wizard with the Dark Mark on his arm finds me his equal. The first one ended with a war and my death, I do hope this will be a bit more cheerful.”

“I cannot promise anything.” Came Snape’s sour reply.


	6. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey lovelies, wanted to thank you for all the continued interest in this. It makes me so happy to see your thoughts on the chapters so please keep them coming!_   
>  _I took some liberty with the rules of animagic, dont sue me. Also, I hope you're not getting bored with the fights, I tried to make them exciting and a little bit different every time. We are slowly getting to the good parts, the boys are warming up to each other, so hold on a little longer!_

## VI: Bruises 

 

It wasn’t cheerful. It was strenuous and occasionally almost scary. Snape’s magic wasn’t just uncontrolled, it seemed wild, seemed to fight Harry just as Snape did, as if it gained its powers from Snape’s hatred, but acted as a separate entity. It was almost like fighting two different persons; one who was happy to get over with this as fast as possible, and one who enjoyed every fight, relished them the more intense they had become and wielded the magic of Hogwarts. This last part made it rather hard on Harry, but he held on – for now.

Thankfully, they did not have to meet often. Sometimes, even a week went by before Snape called upon him. Their fights were quick and unpleasant, ending in bruises more often than not, which later on Snape would heal. Harry developed a weird habit of not telling Snape about a small injury so that, he could feel it after they parted. He didn’t understand why he was doing it, but then once, when they were spending some time private, Ginny asked about it and Harry had to word his reasoning.

“I thought he heals you,” she said, pointing at the slight discoloration around Harry’s ribs. He was half naked, and they had been making out in an unused classroom late at night.

Harry just shrugged, “If you don’t feel it afterwards, it’s like it didn’t even happen.”

Ginny gave him a weird look, so Harry had to further explain.

“You know I can't tell you much, but… I don’t want to forget how important this is. I owe him too much for that.”

She seemed to accept that, if not even understand it completely. She kissed the purpling bruise, dragging her tongue across the sensitive skin. She was gentle enough not to hurt Harry, but she continued her tender caresses. Harry could suddenly feel her lips on his throat, trailing the line of his neck down again. Once she found his collarbone, a spot well-hidden usually by Harry’s shirt, she sucked in the skin.

“Bloody hell, Gin,” Harry grunted, his hips bucking up right away.

She smirked as she said, “Some more marks that should remind you of the import things…”

Harry just smiled wickedly as he turned them over. He made sure to leave plenty of small marks for her to feel in the days to come.

With a hand down in her panties, he kissed her soft lips. Her hands were on Harry’s arse, gently touching, and rubbing. He felt excited enough, but they couldn’t risk going further, besides, he didn’t want to be with Ginny in a dusty classroom for the first time. She deserved better. Yet as he **lay** on top of her, all he could think about was how much he wanted more, he wanted to feel closer to her. She felt so hot and wet down there. The needy sounds she was making, her flowery scent, her soft hair in Harry’s hand – she was so perfect.

When she came, she bit down on Harry’s shoulder making sure to press her teeth down hard. It made Harry feel marked.

“You better not heal that either, Harry,” she said quietly as she sat up, pulling back on her bra and t-shirt.

“What?” Harry laughed, taking a look at the little red mark.

“I hate seeing marks on you that Snape made.”

“God, Ginny, what are you talking about? This is not a love bite,” Harry said pointing at the bruises on his ribs.

She sighed then looked at him apologetically. “I know. I guess I’m just jealous. With Wallace and Snape, we barely have time for each other.”

“Jealous?” Harry echoed. “Of Snape?” He had to laugh at that. “Now that’s a joke.” Then he pulled Ginny in for a hug. He could feel her soft breasts press against his chest and it made him even harder. They didn’t have more time however, they were already way past curfew.

He gave her another kiss and her hand wandered down to his cock. He gave a nervous chuckle. “We don’t have time,” he breathed as she grabbed it.

“We never have time,” Ginny said, her voice disappointed. She gave a couple more strokes to Harry’s cock, but Harry pushed her away in the end.

“You’ll drive me mad, if you keep doing that.”

She shrugged, “You know where to find me if you need more.”

As they went back to the Common Room, they found Hermione sitting there still. Ron was snoring next to her with a Charms book under his head. Hermione pressed a finger in front of her lips to signal them to be quiet.

“He did well today,” she whispered quietly when Harry and Ginny came closer. She looked at Ron proudly. “He deserves a rest.”

“You do, too,” Harry said, sitting next to her, peaking into the book she was reading. It wasn’t anything related to Charms, or any other of their lessons.

“What’s this?” Harry asked. She gave him the book to read into, but didn’t say a word, given Ginny was there.

She must have sensed that because instead of sitting down, she ruffled Harry’s hair, gave a kiss on the top of his head then said, “I’m off to bed.”

Harry watched her leave, but did not say a word to keep her there. He felt a pang in his belly, but then he turned to Hermione.

She was smiling supportively at him. “She understands it, Harry. It’s very hard for her, but she tries her best to give you space.”

“I hate keeping secrets from her, but I promised Snape and McGonagall.” Harry said quietly.

“You told it to us.”

“It’s different, Hermione. You’ve been with me through everything, you even know about Snape and my mom. I tell you guys everything.”

“You could be honest with her, too.” Hermione answered. “It’s not like she’s going to sell it the Prophet.”

“I know!” Harry said quickly, because he knew he could trust Ginny. Yet… “I know, I just want…” He leaned back on the soft sofa and sighed. “I don’t want her to worry about me. I want to keep her out of all this. She’s so… perfect. And I want her to stay like that. Telling her all this now, feels like tainting her.”

“She’s a person, Harry, not an idea. She’s not perfect. None of us are.”

“She is to me,” Harry said.

Hermione sighed then patted his thigh gently. “Let’s talk about the book?”

Harry nodded, “Yes, please.”

“All right,” she chuckled. “So, it’s not very informative, it is more about accidental magic during childhood and the consequences of repressing magic as a child. What’s happening with Snape is different, though. If what they believe is true, and Hogwarts did give him back more magic, the solution is simple. He needs to learn to control his magic again.”

“Hermione,” Harry said. “You haven’t seen that magic… It’s… more powerful than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“That might be,” Hermione answered. “But it doesn’t matter. There are instances when a wizard or witch has to adapt to new powers. When you became the Master of the Deathly Hallows was one instance. Other is when people use potions to gain more magic or energy. It is dangerous, but it can be done.”

“The Hallows never had such powers.” Harry stated.

“They had, but you’re still young and you adapted to the change easily. Besides, you don’t use the Wand. Professor Snape does not have a wand he can just put down and not use when the magic is too much to control.”

“So how can he gain control?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted.

“I touch you,” Ron said quietly from the couch.

They both looked at him, and he yawned loudly. “When I’m hungry, excited or too anxious, and can't concentrate, I touch you. Like, just your hand… you have really soft hands. But focusing on something else, helps me.”

“Thank you, Ronald, that’s a very weird example but…” Hermione thought for a second then shrugged. “Not a bad idea.”

“Can we go to bed now,” Ron yawned again.

“So what, if Snape can focus on something else other than his magic while we fight…”

“You might not even need to fight.”

“That would be nice,” Harry said. “He almost beat me to it a couple of times. He’s just so _angry_.”

“We’re here for you, Harry,” Hermione said, patting his leg. “We’ll practice with you, like we did before the Triwizard Tournament.

Ron’s head fell back to the pillow. “Oh great, this time, I’m not just going get stunned, am I?” He groaned. “It will be a lot worse.”

“But you’ll help?” Harry asked his best friend.

“Who wouldn’t want to be beaten by Harry Potter, mate?” Ron grinned.

o.O.o

Harry sat at his desk, looking out at the cold November morning. A small mockingbird was jumping around in front of him on the table, chirping. It used to be a hedgehog, but now Harry had successfully transformed it.

The classroom was very noisy now, as birds of all kinds were flying and chirping all across it. Most of the students, like Harry, managed to turn their four-legged mammals into birds, but there were still some kittens, rats and badgers running around.

The lesson was almost over, McGonagall was giving out some last-minute extra homework for those who failed the transformation. For this once, Harry could lean back and relax.

As he watched the cloudy sky, he realized how much he missed flying. His broom was under his bed, untouched for months now. Every time he would reach for his Firebolt, Ginny or someone was right beside him, asking to go flying together, or play Quidditch. Though Harry missed the sport, now that he wasn’t in the team, it did not mean that much to him anymore. He still visited the games of course, with Ginny as the captain of the Gryffindor team, there wasn’t even an option not to go.

Yet he wished for something else. He wondered, looking at the little mockingbird what it would feel like to fly without aid. To be out there and fly as fast as his own body could drive him and not just as a broom was capable.

The idea lingered in the back of his head for almost a week. He couldn’t stop staring at songbirds around the forest and watched mesmerized the owls that came to the Great Hall every morning, carrying letters.

After their next Transfiguration lesson, he gathered his courage and stayed behind.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall said as she placed the birds they had worked on back into their cages.

“I was wondering, Professor, what does it take for someone to become an Animagus?”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him, but she seemed to take Harry seriously. Before she answered, she collected all the birds, she sat down and pointed to a chair for Harry to take a seat as well.

“That depends, Mr. Potter. Generally, a lot of practise, and even more paperwork.”

She regarded Harry for a couple seconds then asked, “Are you interested?”

“I think, yes, Professor.” Harry answered.

“Animagic is a very advanced spell, Mr. Potter. More advanced than anything you are being taught here. That being said, I highly doubt it would take you more than a couple of months to achieve it. If you really put yourself to the task, that is.”

“But for dad and Sirius, it took…”

“Years, yes.” McGonagall nodded. “They were eleven years old when they started, and they did not have anyone to instruct them. You, Harry, are much older, experienced and powerful than your father or godfather ever was. And your powers will only grow, especially given your extra lessons with Professor Wallace and…”

“And the death-defying fights I have with Professor Snape,” Harry supplied with a grin.

McGonagall huffed, but nodded. “Yes, indeed. Changing into an animal isn’t hard. Changing back, however is more demanding and the reason why so many avoid this branch of magic entirely. Several wizards and witches have attempted Animagic improperly, and became stuck in their animal form, in the end forgetting even that they were once human. Which is why it is essential that you have an instructor, who can identify you and change you back if you have a problem doing it yourself.”

“Would you help me, Professor McGonagall?” Harry asked tentatively.

“That depends, Mr. Potter. What kind of animal would you like to become?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” Harry said.

 “It is subservient to choose a form based on what you would like to do. My cat form allows me night vision, excellent hearing and quiet movement, all very helpful during the first and second wars, not to mention all the other deeds Professor Dumbledore had me do. And it makes sneaking up on misbehaving children ever so easy, too.” She added with a small smirk.

“I was thinking of something that could fly, Professor. An owl perhaps? Or a mockingbird.”

“Owls are great creatures. They can fly many miles without needing to rest or to be fed. Mockingbirds I wouldn’t recommend unless your aim here is to sing prettily.”

Harry laughed, “No, I would like to fly,”

“You might want to look into eagles, falcons, or even pigeons. It is very important to have a clear image of what you want, before you even attempt transformation.”

Harry nodded. “So, you’ll help me?” He asked eagerly.

“No.” McGonagall said and Harry’s hoped plummeted. “My speciality is mammals. I could teach you to become a mammoth or a mouse but turning into a bird needs a different learning process. Besides, you’ll need someone to teach you how to fly, as well.”

“Oh,” Harry said disappointed.

McGonagall studied her nails then asked nonchalantly, “Why don’t you ask Professor Snape?”

“What?”

“His Animagus form is a bird, Harry. He could easily help you.” Then her eyes caught something behind Harry and she tittered. “Speak of the devil.”

Harry turned around and saw the glowing doe carefully step closer to them.

“Come with me,” she said in Snape’s deep voice, and Harry jumped from his seat right away.

“Be careful, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall cried after him.

o.O.o

Once again, the doe led him back to that classroom where they had been when Snape had called for him for the first time. By now, Harry learned that they were near the Ravenclaw tower. Luckily, the whole corridor was old and unused. There was no one around even now, although it was in the middle of the day.

When he turned the last corner, he waved at the smiling witch wearing the blue dress in the painting. She waved back, blushing slightly. Harry figured she must have been a famous Ravenclaw from a long time ago. He didn’t linger around, but went straight to the door and opened it.

“Wand,” Snape urged him right away instead of a welcome, not that Harry needed a warning by now to pull out his wand. He attacked Snape before the man could even say another word.

Snape leaned away from Harry’s spell, raising an eyebrow. Harry could all but see as the blue magic reared around him like an impenetrable force. Like a pet, who was ready to attack whoever dared hurt its master. The thought made Harry wonder, whether Hogwarts regarded a headmaster as that: its master. Or perhaps was it the other way around.

Then a spell grazed his arm, and he realized perhaps this wasn’t the time to think about such theories.

“I need you to be better than this, Potter,” Snape warned him as he twirled his wand in his hand.

Harry pulled up a shield and said, “I wouldn’t like to be in the shoes of the person, who managed to piss you off this bad.”

“Not that your situation is any better at the moment,” Snape grunted as he hurled spell after spell at Harry’s head. Harry pushed on his shield, as if throwing it towards Snape. The spells and the shield collided half way through and exploded like a bomb. Harry hoped for an effect like this, he was safe behind a table.

“You all right?” he cried, peaking over the edge.

Snape was standing in the rubble, dust settling around him. The turquoise light shimmered over his body, and Harry had a distinct feeling it was pleased. Snape, too, had a weird smile on his face.

“Fighting you is becoming more and more demanding, Potter,” Snape said. “I know my aim is to exhaust myself, yet, I cannot deny, I feel a need to win.”

Harry stood up, too, grinning. “You can certainly try.” He said, then the next moment he sent the table flying at Snape’s head. He felt like his childhood dream was coming true. He could curse Severus Snape as much as he liked, and he never got any detention for it.

His cockiness cost him dearly. Almost literally Snape turned the tables within minutes, and soon Harry found himself facing a chair that was flying towards him. He jumped out of its way, but behind it, half of a table was reaching him with alarming speed. He stepped back and fell, and the next moment his ribs were stinging like hell. He managed to hit the exact spot that was still bruised from a week ago, and the pain now all of a sudden was close to unbearable. Instinctively, he touched the spot making it even more painful and his wand fell out of his hand.

With that, his shield collapsed as well.

Eyes closed he waited for the crush, expecting the pain, but it never came. When he finally dared open his eyes, he saw the desk, hovering inches from his face. It was shimmering with blue light, too. Snape was reaching out towards it as if he had just caught it in the air, even though he was still several feet away. Then Harry watched as Snape threw the heavy wooden desk away like a plastic toy using only his magic. 

“Wow,” he breathed impressed, but the next moment even the blood froze in his veins.

Snape moved and instead of the desk his magic grabbed Harry and tossed him against the wall. He could feel the electric power all around him making him unable to move. It was like resisting the pull of a magnet.

With a few steps Snape was in his face, lifting Harry’s shirt.

He only looked at the purple bruises for a second, then his eyes were on Harry. There was a very dangerous storm in the dark gaze and being wandless, it was the first time, Harry truly felt afraid of Snape.

“What’s this?” Snape hissed. Electricity cracked around him, zapping Harry, too. It wasn’t painful, just very uncomfortable.

“It’s nothing.”

Snape’s magic reared again, and Harry felt as he was pulled away from the wall a couple inches just to be thrown against it again.

Suddenly, where Ginny’s mouth had been not long ago, now three cold fingers were digging into his bruised skin. Snape’s touch burned Harry’s skin and he cried out, trying to jerk away from the pain.

Snape didn’t let him. Almost cruelly, he jabbed his finger in there even more.

“I knew it,” he spat. “I did that last week.”

“Get off me!” Harry snarled.

“Am I right, Potter?” Snape shouted threateningly.

“Maybe,” Harry said, trying to get free. “I don’t know.”

Snape grimaced as if he could smell the bullshit on Harry.

“I asked you, Potter, and you said you were fine,” he hissed in the end.

“I am fine,” Harry said, angrily tossing his head left and right as right now that was the only part of his body he could move. Snape’s magic like rope tied him down.

The three fingers jabbed into his ribs again and he cried out.

“You don’t look fine to me!” Snape yelled. “You didn’t look fine to me two minutes ago, when you were lying wandless on the floor a second away from a table going through your head faster than your thoughts!”

Harry stared at the black eyes and did not look away. Snape was taking deep breathes and soon, Harry could feel his magic recede like waves calming after a storm. Finally, he could move his arms and body, but there was still nowhere to go as Snape was towering over him.

“Why do you think I insist on healing you?” Snape asked in the end, his tone filled with quiet fury.

“I don’t know,” Harry said defiantly, knowing full well, that while during other times he could get away with a little cheek, this certainly wasn’t one of those moments.

He almost expected it, when Snape grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back against the wall, yet again. His physical strength was not much less intense than his magic.

“Because when you’re injured, you’re more prone to make mistakes, and I will not let your blood taint my hands, do you understand that, Potter?” he hissed inches from Harry.

By this point he was pulsing with magic which zapped Harry’s skin every other second. Snape then turned around, picked up Harry’s wand and pressed it against Harry’s chest.

“I might feel the need to win, Potter. But I do not _want_ to.” He said. “Do you understand me?”

The next couple of seconds, Snape’s meaning finally got to Harry, causing a low, sinking feeling in his belly. With cheeks warm with shame, he only said quietly, “Yes.”

“Do you understand me?!” Snape bellowed at him again.

“Yes!” Harry yelled back, his anger suddenly equal to Snape’s even.

The professor then marched across the room, cloak billowing and took up the duelling pose.

Ten minutes later it was all over. Harry fought as viciously as never before, using every nasty trick up his sleeves. Their fight had never been this savage, probably not even the one after Dumbledore’s death.

By the time they finished, he was covered with cuts and bruises, but he was pleased to see, Snape didn’t look any better. There was a bloody cut across his lower lip, and a longer, deeper one on his temple. As he was lying on the ground, the blood slowly trickled into his long, black hair. Harry could only guess just how many more injuries he was hiding under his robes.

He walked to his professor and fell on his knees, tired as if he had just been playing Quidditch for the whole weekend.

“Don’t sleep,” He told Snape who had his eyes closed. “We’re not done yet.”

Snape opened his eyes and Harry lifted his shirt.

Wordlessly, Snape sat up a little bit more, then touched the bruise again. This time the three fingers were gentle and careful, yet Harry still hissed.

“God, your hands are cold…” he murmured under his breath, but Snape pulled back his hands and rubbed them together a couple times. Afterwards, his touch still made Harry’s skin burn and he looked down expecting to see blue lightning zapping between the fingers and his ribs, but there was nothing.

Snape examined his injury, then placed his whole palm across it. Harry watched as Snape closed his eyes, then breathed in slowly, concentrating. As he exhaled, an electric, warm sensation started spreading in Harry’s body, starting from Snape’s hand on his ribs. He could feel it brush harmlessly against his heart, spreading all around his body like fire that would melt the winter coldness in his bones.

Harry let out a shaky breath, his eyes closing. He was almost quivering.

“It doesn’t hurt you, does it?” Snape asked in a low tone.

“No,” Harry sighed, eyes finally opening. He looked down on his body, but there was no sign of any injury. No bruises, not cuts, nothing. He suspected even Ginny’s love marks had disappeared. “Since when can you heal with only a touch?”

“Since now,” Snape answered almost silently, as his head fell back against the wall. He looked utterly exhausted.

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the man. Such immense power, one had to wonder what effort it took for Snape to hold it in even now.

He conjured a small towel and dripped some water on it from his wand. He gently wiped it across Snape’s bleeding scar and the fact that he didn’t even flinch just his eyes opened up slightly showed how tired he must be.

Harry cleaned the cut, then healed it with a quick spell before it would start bleeding again. Then he carded his fingers through Snape’s long hair, trying to feel the bloody spots and cleaned those, too. The long black tresses were ridiculously soft, like silk. Like Ginny’s, almost even better.

A couple moments later, Harry caught himself staring at Snape’s bloodied lips. His fingers were hovering just an inch above the pink flesh, and he had to shake himself to remember what he wanted to do. He took the corner of the wet towel and wiped the fresh blood from there too.

He felt the need the say something but at the same time, he enjoyed the comfortable silence.

“I guess, this isn’t the right time to ask you to teach me Animagic,” he murmured in the end.

Snape’s lips quirked up under Harry’s tending fingers. “Given our past endeavours, it would never be a right time to ask me to teach you anything. I don’t know if you noticed, Potter, but we don’t really get along well.”

Harry shrugged, pulling his wand across Snape’s lips, which seemed to part slightly at the foreign touch.

“It doesn’t seem as bad anymore,” he commented lightly. “Especially during our little… sessions.”

“The aim of these sessions, as you call them, is that we fight. That would be the very thing we would need to attempt to avoid, were I to teach you anything. Besides, learning Animagic would require you to trust me. A highly impossible trait to achieve.”

That made Harry laugh, and Snape finally opened his eyes and stared at him.

“I wouldn’t be here, if I didn’t trust you, Professor,” he told Snape, looking into the cold black eyes.

“Still,” Snape said sitting up, then standing, pulling Harry up as well. “I believe it would be more beneficial for you to ask Professor McGonagall.”

“I already did. She said she can't help me, because I don’t want to be a mammal.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but I cannot help you.”

Harry picked up his bag from the ground then walk to the door. “Don’t worry, Professor,” He smiled at Snape, despite feeling disappointed. “I understand. You have enough on your plate already.”

He was almost out of the door, when Snape asked quietly. “What would you like to be?” There was something strange in his voice.

Harry turned back and as he said the words, he was entirely certain this was indeed what he had wanted from the beginning. “An owl, sir. A snowy owl, like Hedwig.”

He left the room, giving a nod outside to the painted witch, then headed to his next lesson. He was very late from Potions, but he assumed Slughorn would be aware of the reason.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps from behind and he turned back. He had never seen Professor Snape ran after anyone.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape called, then sighed. “Sunday evening, at seven o’clock, in my office. Be sharp, or you’ll be turning into a clock and not an owl.”


	7. Soft Feathers

## VII: Soft Feathers

 

The week went by in a blur. Harry could barely tell the days apart anymore, the only thing he knew that it wasn’t yet Sunday. Holloway, the girl he was supposed to teach non-verbal spell casting, managed to get better by the end of the lesson with Harry’s help, so now Harry was suddenly not just a student getting ready for his N.E.W.T.s but also an assistant learning in depth theories of the Dark Arts and in the defence against them. Wallace, as he promised tried not overload Harry, but it was still hard to teach the others something that came to him almost instinctively.

Next to his extra tasks for Wallace, he still had his practices with Ron and Hermione. At night, after they were done with their homework, they would go out and seek an empty room, where Hermione would open her many books and make Harry practice more advanced magic than he had ever come across with. It was not just a single spell anymore. Complex, interweaving series of charms and jinxes, proper duelling techniques and many more difficult topics occupied their nights.

He could barely spend time with Ginny. Their worries back in June about not having enough time for each other, and their promise to always find some seemed nothing more than a dream, a vision they caught a glimpse of in the heart of the setting sun.

When Harry was free, done with homework and Wallace, too when not even Snape’s doe demanded that he followed her, Ginny was out there getting soaking wet in the Quidditch field. When Ginny sat down next to him in the Common Room late at night chatting about what happened to her, he could barely listen, or hold a conversation he was so tired from yet another fight with either Snape or Hermione and Ron.

There never seemed to be enough time, there was always something more important, and they could barely find a moment alone. Problems, like the dark clouds outside, seemed to only gather higher and higher.

“Mr. Potter, are you here with me?” Wallace asked with a small smile.

“Oh, yes,” Harry shook his head to clear it. His thoughts seemed to be more and more occupied with the troubles with Ginny. He could feel there was something wrong, even though she never said a bad word. In fact, she was very understanding.

Harry placed the rest of the books onto the smaller pile, then gathered them up and carried them over to Wallace’s desk.

“So, this will be my light reading?” He asked, eyeing the mound of heavy, thick tomes.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter, but you’ll have plenty of time to finish them, I promise. And I repeat, if you ever feel overexerted-“

“Just let you know, and you will give me a free pass. I know, sir, you told me a million times.” Harry grinned.

Wallace grimaced and winced. “Ah, I hate it.”

“What?” Harry asked back surprised.

“All this _sir_ , and _Professor Wallace_ , titles and everything. Ah, it makes me feel so old.”

Harry laughed and gave his professor a scrutinizing look. He did not look old, actually. He was still fairly young, probably even a few years younger than Snape.

“My students used to call me Archie,” he grinned with a shrug. “I was teaching in the United States before I came here.”

“Archie,” Harry repeated the name. It wasn’t as weird as it would be to call McGonagall on her first name or even Snape. It actually fit the man a lot more than Professor Wallace.

“You think, we could make that catch somehow?” Professor Wallace asked beaming hopefully.

Harry grinned, “I think you need to check with Professor Snape, before you allow something indecent like that.”

He meant it only as a joke, but Wallace’s expression suddenly darkened. Gone was the playfulness from his brown eyes and it seemed he had just aged a decade over half a second.

He turned away from Harry as he murmured, “Yeah, yeah I will.”

He sat behind his desk and Harry didn’t know whether he should go there or leave him be. His curiosity once again won.

“Archie?” He asked tentatively.

Wallace looked up, a hesitant smile crossing his face. “I’m sorry, Harry, it’s just…”

“Why do you hate Professor Snape so much?”

“You’re too young, you can’t understand…” Wallace said, turning away.

“Too _young,_ am I?” Harry asked back astounded. “I can't believe I’m saying this, but do you know who I am?”

That made Wallace chuckle, but then he leaned forward and his expression turned dark and cynical.

“I know who you are. What you need to understand is that there are many things you have not experienced yet, Harry Potter.”

“Like what? Losing someone? I grew up without my parents, in a house where the best-case scenario was that my relatives did not talk to me.”

“You have friends that love you, you have arms to hold your sweetheart, you have a heart that is capable to love.”

“And I’m very grateful for all those things. But that does not mean I didn’t fight for them, or I wouldn’t understand why you hate Professor Snape.”

“Tell me, Harry, have you ever felt such _crippling_ pain, such _utter_ devastation that it broke your inhibitions? Have you ever been so angry that you felt like an animal? That you wanted to tear into flesh, shred everything to pieces, destroy even yourself?”

“No,” Harry said quietly. “And I hope I never have to. I don’t know what happened between you two, but Professor Snape is not the man you think him to be, just because he has the mark. It was a long time ago, it was a mistake. And he did everything to correct it. It took me years to learn that.”

“That is your opinion, and I can respect that,” Wallace said. “It will not change mine, however.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, sir,” said Harry feeling suddenly every bit as angry as on the day when he watched Wallace pointing his wand at Snape. “But Professor Snape saved my life countless times. After all that, I cannot let anything bad happen to him.”

“I understand that, Potter,” Wallace said after a long pause. His tone was colder now; Harry’s threat, it seemed, was not left unnoticed.

o.O.o

Ginny’s hand almost tore into his hair, as she kissed him wildly. Harry kissed back, but this was the first time he felt it was mostly out of duty, of knowing this was what he was supposed to do. If Ginny kissed him, he kissed back and that was how things worked. That was the order of things in a normal world.

Except now, as they kissed and Ginny’s hand went down to his cock, Harry’s eyes weren’t open because of surprise or the need to look her in the eyes as she touched him. It was because he was checking the time.

He still had fifteen minutes with her. He tried kissing Ginny again, but it just didn’t feel good, at least not as good as he thought it should feel, how good it was _supposed_ to feel. Instead of her, his mind was on Snape and their lesson in less than half an hour. Harry couldn’t wait to learn Animagic. Since he had lost Quidditch, this was the first thing that filled him with the same excited anticipation as the sport used to.

Ginny let go if him, her eyes casting sparks. “At least you could pretend you care,” She said, angrily.

“Come on, Gin,” Harry said pacifying. “You know I care. I’m a little distracted.”

“I was excited, you know that I could spend some time with you. Do you even know when was the last time we were together? It was weeks ago, Harry. Weeks ago.” She said. She was close to crying.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny,” Harry tried to apologize, but she pulled away. “It’s just, there is so much…”

“I know, Harry. Being Wallace’s assistant is hard and demanding, and whatever you do with Snape, tires you more than Quidditch has ever done. I can see it. It’s just… I hoped that… I hoped that being with me makes you at least as excited, as being with Snape.”

“I am excited,” Harry said, knowing full well that it was a lie.

“Harry,” Ginny hissed as a cat, “you kiss like a tree.”

“That’s unfair and you know it,” Harry said quietly.

She had angry tears in her eyes now. “You know what’s unfair? That the only time we get to be together, you’re not really here.”

“Ginny, come on,” Harry tried calming her. “I’m here, right here.”

He reached out, trying to touch her, but she jerked away.

“You’re miles away Harry. You’re either with Wallace learning to be the perfect little assistant, or with Snape letting him do Merlin knows what to you.” She said emotionlessly. “What is it? Why are you covered in bruises? Does he beat you?” She asked, disgusted.

“Bloody hell, Ginny, of course not.” Harry answered.

When she didn’t say anything, Harry gave her a cold glance, then turned around. “I have to go, Gin. We’ll talk later.”

He stormed out of the classroom where they had retreated to enjoy each other for a while, then all but run up to the Headmaster’s office. Snape had owled him earlier today about the password, but Harry still had doubts it would work.

The gargoyle looked at Harry expectantly.

Hesitant, Harry said, “Lemon drops?” The gargoyle slid away, and Harry ran up the staircase.

He was still early, but he didn’t feel like staying with Ginny any longer at the moment. He could only hope Snape wouldn’t mind. He knocked on his door and right away, he heard the professor’s deep voice.

“Enter.”

Harry walked in. Snape was, once again sitting behind his desk, calm and not glimmering at all. For that Harry was very thankful. It had been a while since he saw Snape like this. They usually only met for their fights.

“Good evening, sir,” he said and sat down as well. “If you don’t mind me asking… Lemon drops?” He smiled curious.

“I had to pick something no one would guess.”

“For some unexplainable reason, he hates lemon drops. Can you imagine that, Harry?” Said a serene voice from above.

“Hi, Professor Dumbledore,” Harry grinned at the portrait.

“Go back to sleep, Albus,” murmured Snape, then took a deep breath and leaned on the table.

“Mr. Potter, to learn Animagic is not an easy feat,” he started his speech. “It requires high concentration, without that it is futile that we even attempt to do it. There are three parts to becoming an animal. First you need to _imagine_ how you would look.”

Harry nodded. “I know what I want to look like.”

“Tell me.”

“Almost like Hedwig, just with green eyes instead of yellow. I could have my scar as the identification mark, like a lightning shaped spot on my head,” he added.

“You won’t need an identification unless you want to be registered.” Snape commented, leaning back.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him and almost chuckled. “Are you telling me to break the rules, Professor Snape?”

“God forbid,” Snape said. “But I know you enough. You won’t go to the Ministry. Even with Kingsley there it would take them a year to register you, meaning you could not turn until then. You don’t have such patience, but I doubt anyone has. Minerva practised Animagic for twenty years before she registered herself.”

Snape waved his hand, as if brushing the topic aside. “What about wingspan? Feet? Beak? What’s in your mouth, Potter? Birds don’t have teeth.”

Harry watched him confused. “Sir?”

“Those are all details you’ll need to be familiar with if you want to achieve a perfect turn. Like any advanced magic this requires as much study as the others, except here it leans more towards ornithology, than magic itself. You’ll have to be extremely informed about owls. You will construct the bird first in your head and only after then will you be able to become it.”

Harry nodded, thinking he might have taken a bigger bite with this then he could chew, but then it turned out Snape wasn’t even finished yet.

“This will be the easier part. The next step is to actually turn. You’ll need to understand what it means to have wings instead of hands, to have a lighter bone structure than what you’re used to. And last, and most importantly, you always have to remember, that first and foremost you are a human, otherwise you cannot turn back. This is the part where neither I, nor anyone else can help you. If you get lost in your mind, I can turn you back, but there were instances when not even that helped. When the mind itself believes it’s an animal, there’s not much any wizard can do.”

The professor gave Harry a couple minutes to think it all through then asked, “Do you still want to do this?”

Gulping, Harry nodded. “Do you think I can do it?”

“You fought against Lord Voldemort and succeeded. You fight me day and night and manage to get away almost unscathed. Honestly, I would be surprised if you weren’t flying out there in a couple month.”

“Really, in a couple month?” Harry asked sitting up straighter in the chair immediately.

Snape nodded. “Yes, but you’ll need to concentrate. Which, as I remember, is not your forte.”

“You’ll be surprised,” Harry grinned.

“We’ll see.” Snape said then closed his eyes. The next moment black feathers sprouted from his head while his hair shrunk back. “Your turn.”

“What, just like that?” Harry asked? “No spell?”

“More often than not magic is a lot more than spells and wand-waving,” Snape said, brushing through his feathers. They slowly elongated and melted back into hair cascading below his shoulder, like a waterfall of ink. “Your imagination gives power to the words. A spell works, because even before you say it, you know what it will cause.”

Harry closed his eyes and tried concentrating.

“You can come up with a word, a spell that could help you focus at first, but you shouldn’t need it.” Snape said in a quiet voice.

Harry tried picturing Hedwig’s white feathers, with a little more blackness in it, but something invaded his imagination. He should have talked to Ginny, should have apologized. She was so angry, but then so was Harry. Why didn’t she understand how much this meant to him? Why wasn’t everything how it was supposed to be?

“Potter,” Snape growled warningly, and Harry opened his eyes.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Concentrate, otherwise we’re just wasting each other’s time.”

Harry closed his eyes again but this time, he couldn’t even picture Hedwig, Ginny was the first thing he saw in the darkness. He opened his eyes again and shook his head. The more anxious he’d become, the less he could concentrate. And that would end up angering Snape. The man was right, they were just dawdling. This could never work.

“All right,” Snape said standing up, but to Harry’s surprise, he didn’t go to open the door to send him away. Instead he leaned against the edge of the desk, watching Harry expectantly. “Out with it.”

“W-with what, sir?”

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Potter?”

Harry gaped at Snape for a full minute before he burst out laughing.

“I highly doubt you want to be talking about my girl problems, Professor Snape.” Harry said – a sentence he had never, _ever_ expected to say in his life.

Snape just raised an eyebrow at him. “ _Want_ to? Certainly not. But neither do I want to waste my time. And I cannot just send you away without giving this a proper try either, you’ve done far too much for me in the past two months to repay it like that. So, if I must listen to you whine about your broken heart to get you to concentrate, so be it.”

Harry swallowed back the laughter that wanted to erupt from him, then just said, “My heart is not broken, sir.”

“Is it the opposite, then? Memories of nights spent in the throes of passion is what keeps you from growing feathers?”

Eyes wide, Harry looked down to his lap. This could not be happening. He could not be speaking about sex with Snape. This was insane.

He gulped, then looked back at the professor. He knew he was blushing, but there was nothing stopping that. He might as well face the man instead of hiding.

Snape wasn’t ridiculing him, there was no hint of mockery on his expression. He seemed absolutely indifferent.

Harry felt a very sudden urge to change that, to make Snape react somehow, anyhow. Even if it cost him his dignity.

“Ginny said I kiss like a tree.” He blurted out.

No matter how hard Snape tried, he couldn’t hide the snort that bubbled up from him. Harry wanted to slap him, but he wasn’t truly angry. He smiled at Snape as he admitted. “I wasn’t concentrating when I was with her, either.”

“I see. Miss Weasley and I are facing the same problems it appears.” Snape said, schooling his features.

“Well, it’s just so hard. When I’m with her, I’m thinking about you, and I hurt her. When I’m with you, I’m thinking about her, feeling guilty.”

Only too late, when the words were out of his mouth did Harry realize how misconceiving that sentence could be. He gave a side look at Snape, who shook his head.

“First of all, I do hope you have never uttered that sentence in _that_ form to anyone, especially not to Miss Weasley.” He grunted. “Secondly, you need to live in the present, Potter. You cannot keep thinking of what will happen. Do try to enjoy what is in front of you.”

Harry gave that a thought, it was a surprisingly good idea.

“All right, let’s do this,” he sighed in the end, standing up too. He stretched his arms over his head as if this was Quidditch practice. “So, what do I do? Just close my eyes?”

Snape observed him for a minute but must have deemed him focused enough, because the next moment dark eyes closed, and his long black hair turned into feathers again.

“Give me your hand.” Snape said then quietly. “Then close your eyes.”

Harry did as requested. He couldn’t see anything just darkness, as his hand rested in Snape’s cold fingers. Then Snape lifted their hands to his feather-covered head.

“Imagine your own feathers, Potter,” he all but whispered in a deep tone that made Harry shudder. “Imagine how white they are, how light and fragile they feel, how soft they are to the touch.”

Harry buried his fingers into the feathers, softly caressing them. They _were_ incredibly soft. Their touch on his skin so light, almost unnoticeable. It was strange, but not unpleasant. He carded his fingers through them, thrilled at the sensation. He would have feathers like this soon, too. White ones, with a little bit of black at the end. Smaller fuzzy downy, and longer, firmer, but equally soft semi-plume feathers.

He could feel Snape’s fingers on his own temple stroking his hair back with a tender caress. His touch wasn’t cold anymore, it was very gentle and warm. Harry could slightly feel the end of his nails scrape his skull.

“Potter…” said a low voice. There was a hint of a smile in there and Harry’s eyes opened to see it. Endless black eyes looked back at him.

Snape was only inches away from him. The proximity scared Harry for a second and he wanted to step away, but something made him stay where he was. His fingers moved in the professor’s soft feathers, raking gently through it.

But Snape wasn’t transfixed as Harry, thankfully, and he withdrew, then handed Harry something. With shaking hands, Harry took it.

“Look at yourself,” Snape said, turning the mirror around.

Harry finally peeled his eyes away from Snape and looked down. The man who looked back at him wasn’t entirely like himself. He had beautiful white feathers instead of messy black hair.

“I did it!” Harry cried, boxing in the air.

“We have a long way to go,” Snape warned him, but then added, almost inaudibly, “But that was a very promising first try indeed.”

Harry grinned at him, then turned back to his image, watching as the feathers changed colours and receded into his head, turning into hair, just to sprout forth all over again. He barely needed to close his eyes this time.

“The first time is always the hardest. Now that you have an image of yourself, it will be easier.” Snape commented, then he stroked Harry’s feathers again. He seemed to inspect them, but his touch lingered for a moment, even after the feathers turned back into messy tresses.

Harry stood there, suddenly feeling too aware of every lock of hair on his head. Their gaze connected and something dark shifted in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

“Now get out of here,” Snape said, ruffling Harry’s tousled mane suddenly before he pulled his hand back and walked behind his desk.

The careless touch made Harry feel like a child again. It reminded him of how Sirius would playfully do the same thing when he wanted to show how not-angry he was about Harry’s misbehaving. For some reason, Harry didn’t like being reminded of Sirius at a moment like this, when he was alone with Snape.

He mentally shook himself then asked, “That was all?”

“You’ve done enough for your first lesson.” Snape said. “See you next Sunday, unless I need your help until then.”

He went to the door, his heart filled to the brim with excitement about Animagic. He turned the knob, but then looked back. “Thank you, sir,” he said then rushed out.

There was something else lurking in there beside excitement, something darker but equally electrifying, and it scared him.


	8. Numbing Fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is one of my favourite chapters in the entire fic, I really hope you'll enjoy it :)_
> 
> _Love you all._

## VIII: Numbing Fears 

 

Harry was wandering the castle at night, something he had done many times during the semester, but so far it was because of Snape needing his help. As he roamed the corridors, stepping silently under his cloak, he realized it was the first time he was out and breaking school rules. The excitement it caused in him was a fond sensation he all but missed.

He wasn’t heading in any direction, he was just walking, taking one step after the other, mindlessly almost. If Snape had seen him now, how much he did not pay attention to anything outside his mind, he surely would be angered.

Live in the present – wasn’t that what he had said? Yet, once again, it wasn’t the present that occupied Harry’s thoughts, but the past.

More than a week had passed since that moment in Snape’s office and Harry still carried that weird sensation, that lurking darkness with him. It caused a bitter twinge in his belly.

Moreover, Ginny was still angry. Not openly though; she acted sweet, and she smiled and kissed Harry afterwards, when they had talked the next morning. To anyone else it would have seemed as if everything was all right, but Harry could feel it wasn’t. It was as if things became tainted. There were cracks in their perfect life, their beautiful future started to fade away, and there was nothing Harry could do or say to change that.

Suddenly, he became aware of the sound of approaching footsteps. Quickly, with heart beating wild, he hid next to a statue. Just in time, it seemed, because the next moment someone rounded the corner and strode his way.

Harry had trouble making out their face, their wand was shining too bright. He stepped forward slightly. He could not be detected, the cloak covered him fully, he was invisible, yet, as he watched the person approach, he felt scared. What if…

He was almost standing right next to the statue when he realized who it was. Cloak billowing, as if there was a storm in the corridor, Snape marched towards him. Harry, like a deer caught in the headlight, suddenly couldn’t move.

All of a sudden, he was in the present. He felt every inch of his body freeze as the authoritative figure approached him. It made something boil in him, rear up like a monster. How dare Snape make him this scared, again, like he used to be when he was only eleven. How dare Snape frighten him now in the middle of the night, when at other times, Harry felt perfectly – strangely – safe standing in front of him with closed eyes, or even worse at his wandpoint.

He glared at the man as a part of his brain was screaming at him that he was too close, that Snape would bump into him, but Harry didn’t care. Why should he be afraid now? Just because he broke the rules? To hell with them all, he wanted Snape to scream at him, he wanted the man as angry as when he found Harry in his pensive. He wanted Snape to hate him. He wanted the Snape he knew well by now, not this man with his warm hands and soft hair.

He didn’t move, just glared and hoped that Snape would feel the daggers that shot from his eyes.

Five feet – two feet – only one. Snape was right next to him and Harry’s eyes closed, expectantly awaiting the hard knock of his shoulder.

But it did not come. Snape moved on and Harry breathed out and with that the madness lifted from his mind as well.

Silently panting through open mouth, he fell against the wall, clutching at his wildly beating heart. Was he out of his mind? Why would he want Snape angry? Why would he want to be found? Why would he want to risk that fragile peace they had establish in the last couple months?

He almost didn’t realize what was weird. The silence was deafening. Then it came to him.

There were no retreating footsteps. Snape was motionless in the middle of the corridor.

He lowered his wand, then looked over his shoulder, without turning around.

Harry checked, but he was still invisible.

“Stay safe,” Snape said then quietly, and the next moment, he was on his way again.

Harry watched as Snape disappeared around the next corner, then he waited for his heart to stop beating so frantically, for his breathing to calm, for his palm to stop sweating. Then he waited some more, sitting on cold ground, leaning against stone walls, thinking, trying to figure out why Snape didn’t shout, didn’t take points. The professor knew it was him, without a doubt, and yet, he just walked away. He should have been angry, Harry wanted him to be angry, which he could understand. But not this.

It could have been an hour, or three, or just ten minutes, but in the end, he stood up and headed after Snape. His mind turned off and his legs took him where he felt he needed to be right now.

It was as if the man had been expecting him. A heavy door was left open, through which cold November air drifted through. The double door lead to a small balcony. Harry stepped out, taking his cloak off. To his right, a staircase ran on the outer side of the castle, to his left there was nothing but a wall.

In front of him, Snape waited for him, leaning against the railing, wind gently caressing his long hair. He had a light blue glimmer around him, not more than a faint glow of the water at night.

Snape lifted a lit cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag. Harry’s eyes widened as he noticed that his fingers were shaking, wild tremors were running through his whole arm.

“I should have known you couldn’t help yourself.” Snape noted not turning back.

“You know me, Professor Snape. I like a good stroll before bed.”

Snape snorted, flicking the end of the fag. Harry stepped next to him and they watched as the ash drifted away. The cigarette was back between Snape’s lips and the ember lit up as the professor inhaled again. While he slowly breathed out, he rubbed his hands as if that would make the shaking go away.

“That’s not good for you, sir,” Harry noted.

“I’m a wizard, it’s not like it’ll kill me.” Snape shrugged watching the little brown stub. “Besides, it was either this, or the alcohol, and I rather not become a drunkard.”

“That’s all right,” Harry said calmly. “But I don’t think you need that anymore.” He reached out to take the cigarette from Snape, but the man jerked his hand away the last minute, lifted it to his lips and took another long drag.

“You don’t get to tell me what I need.” Snape said looking Harry in the eyes. His hands were still shaking, but the blue light wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t angry either, he seemed emotionless, almost blank.

He held the cig out for Harry. “At least try it before you judge it worthless.”

Harry looked at the offered cigarette being held only inches from his mouth, then stared at Snape. The man didn’t even blink. In the end, Harry relented and tried to take the cig, but Snape snapped his hand away and shook his head lightly.

Black eyes watched Harry intently as he steadied Snape’s hand and leaned there to take his first puff of tobacco. Cold fingers touched his lips, he tasted something minty in his mouth then he inhaled.

He didn’t cough as he expected. It wasn’t that bad, actually. Unlike with air, he could almost feel as the smoke went down to his lungs and spread to every little nook. Weirder was the thought itself that he had just shared a cigarette with Snape.

When he finally breathed out, Snape exhaled with him unsteadily.

“What got you this upset, sir?” Harry finally asked, licking his suddenly dry lips.

Snape leaned back over the railing again, and took another, smaller puff. It took him a while, but then he finally answered.

“You might as well see it. Maybe that will change your mind.” He said bitterly.

Harry reached out again, and this time Snape let him take the cigarette. He almost crushed it, but then in the last minute, he changed his mind. He lifted it to his lips and took a deep lungful again. The cigarette wasn’t exactly flavoured, though it had some hints of herbal smell.  Yet he could still taste mint is his mouth. It was so distinct, almost stronger than the tobacco itself.

He was about to crush it, thinking they were done with it, when Snape moved and stepped right in front of Harry. Intense black eyes, surely expecting him to be scared, to turn around and run, observed him, but Harry didn’t move. Snape took his hand, careful not to burn either of them, then lifted Harry’s fingers with the cig to his mouth.

Snape wetted his lips and murmured in a husky voice, “Just one last.”

Harry could feel Snape’s mouth move against the tip of his finger, feel as the air rushed through between his digits, feel as lips were pressing just a little bit firmer to his skin then he was let go and Snape went to the door.

Harry crushed the cigarette on the railing then let it fall. He refused to take notice of his suddenly elevated heartbeat or the little tremor in his belly that the professor’s lips on his skin caused.

He followed Snape to another room, not far away.

“I noticed it after our last duel,” Snape said, suddenly sounding more unsteady than before. “I didn’t have time before to deal with it.”

“What is it?” Harry asked back standing at the door, waiting for Snape to open it. He felt apprehensive.

“Just a boggart,” Snape answered, and given the careless words Harry would have expected him not be so upset, yet Snape was shaking still. His dark eyes seemed clouded as he turned towards the door, his hand on the knob. 

Given Snape’s state, Harry expected something actually dangerous, but a boggart? How could a boggart distress Snape this much?

“And here I thought you’re fearless,” he said, trying to uplift the mood, but it was lost on Snape.

“Fearless? That is foolish. If you do not fear, you do not live your life. Life is not about being unafraid, it is about defeating our fears, one by one.” The man responded then he pushed down the handle and stepped into the room. “It’s just that mine… is not so easy to overcome this time.”

Harry stepped behind him, but he couldn’t yet see Snape’s boggart.

“When I was young,” Snape said in a quiet, distant voice, as he moved further inside, “and met a boggart for the first time, it took the image of my father. Then in later years, it was Voldemort. And now…” When Snape kneeled next to something, Harry could finally see what laid on the ground. “It is you.”

It was not what Harry expected at all. There was no sign of injury on his dead body. It looked unharmed, except the glasses were slightly askew. His eyes were open, but the colour of them wasn’t green anymore, but dead white. Yet his mouth was moving, and if Harry listened carefully, he could hear his whispered words drifting in the air.

“This is your fault… you killed me, Severus… you killed me. I trusted you and you killed me…”

Harry watched, unable to look away, as Snape started glowing again, the turquoise light shimmered around him morosely.

He marched there, grabbing Snape’s shoulder.

“Get away from here,” he said sternly, his eye stuck on his own dead body. “Don’t look at it, Professor Snape, it’s not real. I’m alive.”

“I know,” Snape said hoarsely in a faraway voice.

“Sir, come on! Stand up!”

Nonetheless, Snape just watched the body, he moved his trembling hand and corrected the askew glasses. Then brushed the body’s hair out of its forehead.

Harry grasped the man’s shoulder and pulled again, but Snape was rooted to the spot. He was just staring at Harry’s corpse, mesmerized and horrified at the same time.

“Bloody hell,” Harry grunted then kneeled, too. “Look at me, Snape… Come on, look at me!”

But Snape still did not move. Harry grasped his chin and forced him to look away from the other Harry, but he couldn’t make him not listen to the accusing words.

“I’m alive. You won’t hurt me.” He said looking into the black eyes. They were empty, and remained like that no matter how hard Harry tried to bring him back to the present.

Snape tried to turn back but Harry held him firm, he tried to see the body again, but Harry’s fingers moved up from Snape’s chin, palm cradling the side of the man’s face, blocking the view of the dead body.

“Listen, we’re going to stand up now, and walk away.” He didn’t move his hand, afraid that the temptation would make Snape look back at the boggart again.

He stood up, and grasping into Snape’s lower arm, he pulled the man up as well then turned them around so that the professor could not see the body. With his other hand on Snape’s face now as well, he kept talking hoping to speak over the other voices, while they slowly moved away from the apparition. There was no electricity zapping him this time, Snape’s pulsing magic was like a gentle caress around his skin, like dry water surrounding his hand.

“Just keep your eyes on me, Snape. You didn’t hurt me, I’m alive, and I will stay alive because I am a very stubborn, idiotic Gryffindor. You hear me, just keep looking at me. That’s just a boggart. It’s not real.”

Black eyes seemed to clear when they were almost at the door and suddenly Snape’s cold, shaking hands covered his for a moment. There was a sudden shot of electricity, then the blue light slowly faded away.

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath and when he finally exhaled, he pulled his hands away. Without looking back at the body, or even at Harry he turned to leave.

“Take care of that for me, Mr. Potter.” He said before he rushed out of the room.

o.O.o

The next day, a weirdly bright, sunny Saturday had Harry and Ginny strolling around the Castle, hands in hand. The morning air was still fresh and crispy. Hoarfrost covered the frozen ground beneath their feat. December was approaching, and the winter coldness could be sensed in the air.

They were discussing what was going on with them during the day. It was mostly Ginny who talked, chatting about Quidditch and the team, and their chances against Ravenclaw in the next game. She kept mentioning Neville. He was helping her out with Herbology, he was waiting for her after training, he was there, all the god damn time, it seemed. Harry thought Ginny might want to make him jealous, and for a moment Harry did feel something, but it was nothing more than a twinge and mostly of guilt and not jealousy. He was glad Ginny got the attention she deserved, even if it wasn’t from him.

Harry stayed mostly silent, as he could not speak about what was important to him. The fights with Snape were still a secret that no one seemed to know about, and Harry would never tell anyone about Snape’s greatest fear. He also failed to mention to anyone that he was taking lessons in Animagic from Snape. McGonagall knew about it, because she asked the next time they had met if Harry managed to convince Snape to help. He even showed her the feathers he now was able to sprout easily. But other than her, he did not tell anyone.

It was a secret, his secret. _Theirs_. His and Snape’s. Every time he opened his mouth to tell it to Hermione the memory of Snape standing in front him came up and his throat convulsed. He could barely bring himself to swallow, so he rather just did not say a word.

Telling it to Ginny was completely out of the question. Just the idea made Harry’s belly cramp into a tight little knot. She was already upset that Harry spent so much time with assisting Wallace, with practising with Ron and Hermione and helping Snape. He was afraid that telling her about taking on one more task that kept them apart would be a crucial mistake.

Yet it was hard, not telling her, or anyone in fact, about something that made Harry so excited. He couldn’t wait to see Snape again and learn more and nothing, _nothing_ would keep him from doing that. Not Snape, and especially not his own dead body.

It was a strange experience to see it, and Harry even dreamed of the body last night. It was the same, just lying on the ground with dead, white eyes, glasses askew, murmuring words. Except, instead of blaming Snape, he was talking to Harry. He could tell, even though he could not take out the words.

“Oh god,” Ginny grunted and that brought Harry back to the present.

He didn’t have to ask anything, it was clear what upset her right away.

Snape was there, not far away, talking with Hagrid.

“Let’s go say hi,” He grinned, suddenly feeling a lot more warmer.

“Harry, I don’t want to talk to Snape.” Ginny said, pulling Harry the other way, but he planted his feet firmly.

“I meant Hagrid, Ginny,” he shot back right away, knowing full well it was a lie.

He let her hands go and went to the men, greeting them cheerfully. She followed right behind and soon was conversing with Hagrid about his lessons. Harry eyed Snape, trying to stay inconspicuous, but obviously, he failed.

“May I have a word with you, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked finally, when he got annoyed that Harry was taking side-glances at him.

“Sure, Professor,” Harry said.

Ginny rolled her eyes, but didn’t stop him when Harry excused himself and went after Snape a couple of feet away.

“What do you want?” Snape barked quietly enough that they would not be overheard, but his displeasure was evident in his tone.

Harry did not vacillate and went to the topic right away. “I meant what I said the other day, Professor. I trust you and your fears will not change my mind.”

Snape’s intent black eyes, like flaming coal watched him. “You are such a stupid, pig-headed, Gryffindor,” he hissed.

“Luckily for you,” Harry grinned.

Snape turned away, taking a deep breath as if he were close to throttling Harry. There was a high chance he wanted to, Harry saw his fingers flex.

“There will come a time when I hurt you.”

“It’s part of the deal,” Harry nodded seriously. “I know what I got myself into.”

“No, Potter. You don’t fucking know anything.”

The curse word had Harry smirking lightly. He felt an electric excitement inside him suddenly.

“Just to remind you, you still haven’t beaten me, Professor.” He said with smugness in his tone. “The only time you got close to it was when I was injured, and we agreed that will never happen again.”

“You little…” Snape swallowed back the insult. “You don’t want to see me actually trying, Potter.”

“I think I do,” Harry said with a challenge. “It’s getting boring, always kicking your arse, sir.”

Snape took a shaky deep breath, his body tensing up like a bow. “You idiot. How can you not be scared? You felt my power,” he growled like a mad dog. “You felt it _toss_ you against a wall. I could kill you; and yet you dare challenge me?”

“I told you, Professor,” Harry said cheerfully. “I trust you.”

“Why?” The word slipped out unwanted.

“In the first seven years I’ve known you, I failed to trust you and I was wrong. You proved yourself, sir, so I will not make the same mistake again.”

Head bent, Snape breathed in a couple times, then black eyes were back on Harry. “I just hope you’re right.” His voice was coarse.

“I am,” Harry smiled at him, then grabbed his upper arm. “You’re not alone in this, sir. You’ll send for me, if you need me, right?”

Snape swept off Harry’s touch, warm fingers brushing over the back of Harry’s hand gently to nudge them away, but then said softly, “I will, Mr. Potter.”

Snape walked away, and Harry joined Ginny, who was waiting for him alone. Hagrid left a while ago it seemed, because she looked impatient and annoyed.

“Sorry, Gin,” Harry said jogging back to her.

“This is so weird,” Ginny said coldly. “You’re smiling at him, Harry. At _Snape_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ginny,” Harry answer shaking his head in disbelief, though what he could not understand was that what was wrong with smiling at Snape.

“You’re supposed to hate him, Harry,” she snorted derisively. “And you talk to him like he’s your friend.”

That made Harry think. Was he? Was he really supposed to hate Snape?

He shook himself, yes, of course. There was an order to things and it was easy to follow. He was supposed to love Ginny. He was supposed to hate Snape. Fear him even. He was supposed to hate standing at his wandpoint, hate fighting him. He was supposed to hate touching Snape’s hair. He was supposed to hate everything Snape was and everything he did.

Yet it didn’t come together. Because Ginny’s hand in his was cold. But Snape’s… Snape’s touch was so, _so warm_.


	9. Sincere Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry for the long gap, I had some technical troubles. Uploads will become a bit more regular from now on :)_

## IX: Sincere Lies

 

December came blasting snow at them. Huddling around potion filled cauldrons in the drafty classroom had never been fun until now, but Potions became the only class where Harry didn’t feel like he was freezing. That and his extra lessons with Snape.

Snape seemed to have taken Harry’s challenge to heart. Since then, he became even wilder, if that was at all possible. He made Harry truly work for his win but luckily, Harry still remained unbeaten.

It seemed Harry wasn’t the only one enjoying their little duels, however. Snape had a strange smirk on his face now when they fought, often barked tips at Harry, corrected his stance, his wand movement, his lack of concentration. It was as if they were learning to fight, not fighting to exhaust Snape. Practice with Ron and Hermione almost became unnecessary as he was learning more and more from Snape himself.

More often than not, their battles continued now even beyond the retreat of the glowing blue shimmer. They did not stop only because they became tired, or just because Snape managed a hit; he kept on the onslaught of enchantments, making Harry scamper into safety.

And Harry loved it, loved these fights how he used to love Quidditch. He could sleep well only when his muscles were aching, because Snape would cure his injuries, but not that. It was a sweet pain, that told him he achieved something that day.

He was never cold during the duels. He was sweaty, and his shirt wet and sticking to his body, while Snape would only sport a little flush. Harry’s new aim was to see what it took to get Snape out of his outer robes at least. The further he got so far was two buttons undone.

The other lessons were less active and energetic, but not less heated, at least to Harry. A lot of times he would have to stand with eyes closed, trying to shift parts of his body. Snape would observe him, correct him, show him pictures of owls’ talons or tail feather and occasionally, he would ask Harry to close his eyes.

When Harry would have trouble with something, Snape would talk about sensation, so it would be easier for Harry to imagine. However, lately, Harry had a hardship with concentrating, and it wasn’t because of Ginny.

“Potter, if you don’t keep your eyes closed, I’m going to blindfold you.”

Harry spluttered stepping away from Snape. “It’s hard!” He whined. “I have it part by part, but I can't put it together. I need more practice.”

“No, you don’t.” Snape said. “What you need is to _concentrate_.”

The professor grabbed his black wand from his desk and waved it in the air. A small black cloth appeared hovering and Snape snatched it.

“Turn around.” He ordered.

Harry watched him gaping. “You’re not going to blindfold me.”

Snape sighed, irritated. “You’ve been standing in front of me with your eyes closed in many occasions, Potter. There is no difference.”

“There is,” Harry insisted.

There was. He could tell Hermione he was standing in Snape’s study with his eyes closed. He could not tell her he was standing there blindfolded. There was a difference. One was trust. The other carried implications. Implication even Harry understood, though he’d never been with anyone. Snape didn’t seem to care about such insinuations though.

“Turn around.” Snape said again.

Harry remained as he was, glaring at Snape.

“Then get out,” Snape said simply. “There is no point continuing this if you still have trust issues.”

“I don’t have trust issues.” Harry answered sulkily.

“Then _turn around_.”

With a sigh, Harry did so.

He could feel as Snape stepped behind him. He knew what came next.

“Relax, I won't hurt you,” Snape told him as he reached forward and took off Harry’s glasses.

Harry’s eyes closed on their own. “I know,” the words came out not more than a whisper.

The cloth was placed in front of his eyes. It was so soft, silk probably. He did not see anything just darkness, could not even tell if his eyes were open or closed.

Snape touched Harry’s arms and lifted them from next to his body as if making Harry stretch out his wings.

“Can you concentrate on my voice?”

Harry had no trouble with that. More often than not, the problem was that he could concentrate on nothing else but Snape’s deep voice.

“Yes.” Harry said.

“Does this bother you?” Snape asked dragging his hand up on Harry’s arm.

He meant the touch. _His_ touch. He always asked if it bothered Harry. Always. And week after week, session after session Harry had said no. Snape’s touch on his body wasn’t unsettling or troubling at all. He had always treated Harry with respect and gentleness and never touched him inappropriately.

Lately, however, Harry felt different about them. When he stood in front of Snape the man’s deep voice in his mind, and warm fingers drifting softly over his arm to coax him to turn it into wings, Harry started feeling shaken up, uneasy even.

_The touch_ did not bother him. It was inevitable, needed even to help him focus on certain body parts. It made the learning easier.

_His reaction_ to it did bother him, however. These touches sent a wild shudder to Harry’s belly every time. It was like electricity, like their touch after a fight. It must have been Snape’s magic welcoming Harry, like a dog licking a friendly hand. It was foolish, Harry knew, to react like that. It was. Yet he could not stop it.

He cleared his throat. “No,” he said firmly. He would not allow things to become awkward.

“All right then,” that was the only warning. One of Snape’s hands let go of his arm.

Instead it was on his face now.

“Listen to my voice, Potter. I need you to be present, to imagine nothing else than the snowy owl you want to turn into.” Harry did so. His mind seemed to zone in on Snape’s soft, tranquil voice. The hand on his forehead moved a bit further up, fingers sliding into his hair, brushing it back with one long stroke.

“I need you to imagine the owl you want to turn into. Your feathers white like snow,” he said, in a steady low voice that made Harry shiver, “the colour of your eyes like an emerald pool in the sunshine.”

Snape’s other hand moved, too and Harry knew where it would touch him. Heart beating faster he waited then – _yes_ – warm fingers drifted softly on his lips. “Your beak, black as the night, is sharp enough to tear into flesh.”

Lips parted Harry breathed out slowly. He tried to concentrate and see his bird form in his mind’s eyes, see everything Snape was telling him. Instead, he was present. Wasn’t that what Snape wanted? He saw, even though blindfolded, themselves, standing in Snape’s study. It was a disturbing image. _This_ he could not tell anyone.

Oblivious to the turmoil in Harry, Snape went on. His hands moved back to Harry’s arm again. He used his touch to anchor Harry’s attention to the body parts he traced.  “Can you see your wings, Potter?” He asked, his hand shifting leisurely up and down Harry’s arm. “White feathers dotted with a hint of black cover your arm and help lift you up.”

“Your frame so much smaller than it is now,” Snape went on, hands on Harry’s hips. “Lighter, barely weighing anything. You could fly. You could be up there, it would take nothing.”

Then a hand moved again, and this time, Harry gasped lightly. Snape’s fingers slid on his thigh.

“Does this bother you?”

“No,” Harry grunted out between tight lips. Such an atrocious lie, why did Snape have to make him tell lies? Why? Why ask this question? It did not matter. Harry would never tell the truth.

“One word, and I stop.”

He knew. Snape knew what this was doing to Harry, he must have. Somehow, he must know of the raging electricity shooting further and further down in Harry’s body.

No, Snape did not think anything of this. For him, this was teaching and nothing more. There was a reason they did this in Snape’s study and not anywhere else, where they would be private. It was unsaid, but Harry knew. They had chaperones, even if just paintings, that kept an eye on them, making sure no lines were crossed.

“It’s fine,” Harry said forcing calmness in his words. “Keep going.” He said, then stepped back, all but pressing himself against the man, showing Snape he wasn’t afraid. This was all in his head, and he could forget it.

Without any further questions, Snape continued.

“Strong, feathered legs help you land even on small branches. Four toes ending with razor sharp talons evolved to catch a pray help you to grasp.”

Harry wanted to lean back against Snape. He knew it meant falling, falling into a depthless end, yet he wanted it. He wanted to become a bird for a reason. He wanted to be free.

“See yourself, Potter. Not a young man, but a magnificent predator of the sky.” Snape’ voice quieted, and there was nothing else in Harry’s mind just him. He didn’t understand what was happening but he could feel small electrifying bites following Snape’s hand as it shifted up on his body and grasped his hips.

“You were born to fly,” Snape said suddenly very close to Harry’s ears. His fingers dug into Harry’s hipbones and Harry let his body fall back against the man.

He tried so hard not to concentrate on the chest pressed against him from behind. But it was so strange. He was only used to Ginny’s softness, her breasts, her skin, her voice.

There was nothing soft in Snape. He was all bones, and firm, sinuous muscles. His voice a deep rumble like a distant thunder.

His mind emptied. He could feel a pull behind and he let his head drop back onto Snape’s shoulder. He felt as if he was swimming in nothingness. No, not swimming, floating.

Then Snape let him go and stepped away, and suddenly Harry was falling back.

He put his hands out in distress, fluttering them, blindly trying to get a grip on Snape, but he couldn’t stop the pull of gravity.

“Calm down! Calm down, Potter!”

Harry heard Snape’s jovial voice from above him.

He never felt himself fall to the ground, feel the pain of collision, yet he must have been there, because Snape’s voice was coming from way above him. Yet, he was still standing on his two feet. It was all too confusing.

He opened his eyes, and he was surprised to find out that the blindfold was off, and he could see again. Even so, he could see clearly without his glasses.

“What the hell,” he tried to say but instead of his usual voice he only _shrieked_.

“What?” He tried again. No words. Just a hoot.

“Turn around,” Snape said almost laughing.

Harry did, yet only his head turned, his body remained motionless, and still he saw right behind his back.

From a mirror, a snowy owl blinked back at him with great green eyes. It had a thunder shaped black spot on its white-feathered forehead. Harry faced the mirror with his whole body. He opened his wings. They were magnificent. Perfect and pure white on the inside, slightly dotted on the outside.

“Amazing!” He cried, but again, it was nothing more than an excited chirp.

The mirror vanished, and Snape stood behind it. He looked enormous from the point of view of a twenty-five-inch-tall bird.

Thankfully, he squatted down, then held his arm out for Harry to perch on it. Harry took the offer and hopped onto the extended limb, then he was lifted.

“Now turn back.”

“Not yet!” Harry shrieked. Snape still understood him.

“We don’t want you stuck in this form, Potter. Turn back. Think of yourself as a human and turn.” Snape told him gently.

“As if it would be so easy,” Harry hooted back, but then closed his eyes.

He felt dizzy for a moment. Perching on someone’s arm wasn’t as easy as he thought. He steadied himself with a hand on Snape’s chest.

“You can open your eyes now.” Snape said quietly.

Harry didn’t want to. He understood what it meant that he was holding onto coarse robes with human fingers. He understood what it meant that he could hear clearly Snape’s whispered words. They were close. Too close. And even worse, face to face.

Snape had such a heavy scent; not cigarette as Harry would have expected, but fresh, like the air near the sea, like how a forest smelled after rain, and something else, like the scent of lightning itself.

Panic made Harry look up in the end.

“You all right, Potter?” Snape asked, concerned.

“No,” Harry shook his head, glad he didn’t lie.

“Come, sit,” Snape offered, but Harry kept shaking his head. He could not stay. Not in this state. Not with all his blood rushing down, where it had no business to be, not now, not when he was with _Snape_.

“No, it’s… it’s all right. I’ll just lie down for a bit.”

Snape grabbed his shoulder and did not let him go. Harry kept eye contact, afraid Snape would look away and notice things he should never see.

“I don’t want you collapsing on the corridor, Potter. My quarters are just behind this study. There’s a perfectly fine bed-“

_Merlin’s balls_ , “No!” Harry said quickly moving away from Snape. “Thank you, sir, but it’s not necessary. I’m fine. Just a bit shaky,” he rambled on, backing to the door. “Really, I’m fine now.” He was almost out of the door when Snape barked back at him.

“Your glasses, you idiot.” He said coldly, pressing them into Harry’s palm.

Harry hated seeing him this angry, but he simply could not stay. Yet, he couldn’t leave like this either.

“Professor,” he called after Snape.

The man stopped and looked over his shoulder, expectantly, but still distant. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry said with a strained voice. “This was amazing. Just a bit… overwhelming.”

He was almost proud at himself for wording this and not lying. Just because he wasn’t sure if he meant the Animagic, or his own reaction to the professor’s closeness, it did not mean he lied.

“It’s understandable,” Snape said after a long moment. “See you next week, Mr. Potter. Unless…” He added as an afterthought, meaning a last minute call for another duel.

Harry smiled then closed the door behind him. He begged for the doe not to show up tonight. Just not tonight. He needed some time away from Snape.

o.O.o

Half an hour later, his blood was still boiling. Walking and thinking only worked him up even more and did not calm him at all. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, the whole scene. Snape’s voice, his touch, his scent, it was all there, and for the love of Merlin, Harry couldn’t understand why it made him hard.

It was the worst time to run into Ginny.

She smiled kindly and gave a soft kiss to Harry, just as she usually did. Soft lips on his, warm body against his, soft and sweet and smelling of flowers – this was it, this was how it was supposed to be and not because of strong arms and rainy scents.

He pressed her against the corridor’s wall and kissed her deep. She was surprised for only a moment, then kissed back. Harry was grunting, touching her wherever he could.

“What’s gotten into you?” Ginny panted against his neck. She was smiling, he could tell by the tone of her voice.

He did not feel like smiling at all. “I missed you,” he lied, then he was back at kissing her again. He pressed himself against her, seeking contact, searching for something to rut against.

Her hands went down to his cock.

“Oh god,” Ginny moaned, “I never felt you this hard before.”

Harry wanted to scream. He wanted to tell her, it was because he probably never was this hard before. Did she really believe that two minutes of kissing did this to him? Would she notice?

Did he care?

Ginny stroked him, her hands pressing down firmly on the bulge. Harry only remembered long fingers on his thigh.

“Fuck,” he grunted, licking her neck. It was all wrong, the taste on his lips was too sweet. He pressed against her palm, hips pushing forward.

She unbuckled his belt and reached in, gentle fingers wrapping around Harry’s erection.

“God Harry,” she moaned, needy. She looked between their bodies, gave a couple of strokes to Harry’s length, then her blue gaze was back on Harry. She was smirking, and there was something in her eyes. She was pleased. As if this had corrected everything. As if this happened because of her.

_It’s not because of you,_ Harry wanted to tell her. _Not you. Him._

He couldn’t make himself look into her eyes, so he kissed her again and again while he was thrusting up in her hand. But their frantic movements weren’t enough. Her scent invaded Harry’s mind, her soft breasts pressed against his chest.

It was so wrong, but he let his mind wander. Left the present behind and returned to an hour ago when lean body pressed to him from behind, strong fingers gripped his hips and pulled him closer, _closer_.

“You’re so hot,” She said.

_“You were born to fly,”_ He said.

He felt horrible, this was all a lie. He touched her, grabbed her ass, kissed her, but everything was a lie.

Ginny suddenly froze.

“Not now, please not now,” she chanted in a breathless voice. “Go away.”

Harry didn’t have to open his eyes to know what was behind him. The light blue glimmer of a Patronus was too similar to Snape’s frantic magic. The footsteps they would have heard, but the doe walked silent.

“Come with me,” said the doe in a deep voice and Harry whimpered. He was so close.

Ginny let go of his cock, but Harry grabbed her hand. “Please…” He whispered, ignoring the doe.

“Harry, you can't be serious…” She said coldly.

“Please…” Harry whispered again, lips against her neck. He couldn’t look at her. He simply couldn’t.

“Harry…” She said again, but he sucked on his earlobe and she let out a small moan.

“Make me come…” he said against her ear. “Please…”

She was still not moving, so Harry kept kissing the line of her neck. “I can't go to him like this.” He pleaded, desperate. _I want to go to him like this. Stop me._

“You don’t need to go,” she told him. “Stay here. Stay with me.”

Her hand gave a small stroke to Harry’s cock.

“He needs me,” Harry whispered. _I need him_. The thought scared him.

“I need you, too,” Ginny snivelled. _I need him more._

“Please,” he begged, and finally she relented.

She stroked his cock, fingers firm around Harry, but it was different now. It was desperate, almost painful. Punishing. Just what Harry deserved.

The blue light filtered through his closed eyes. He could see it, feel it on his skin. The prickling of the electricity as Snape healed him, warm hands shifting on his body, deep voice whispering dangerous things in his ear. Snape was there next to them, even if only a in a shape of his doe Patronus, but Harry could feel his magic all but pulsing from the animal.

He cried out coming hard, and she let go of him immediately. He held on a moment longer – to her but also to the fantasy in his head.

He cast a cleaning spell and tucked himself away. He tried looking her in the eyes, but she avoided his gaze.

“Ginny,” he tried.

“Go away.” She spat. “Go to him.”

Harry turned around and followed the doe.

o.O.o

The spell blasted against the doorframe just as Harry stepped through the threshold.

“What the hell took you so long,” Snape snarled.

Harry had only a moment to be surprised at the angry, almost hostile tone. Then he had to duck, because Snape was fighting him already. He pulled up a shield that was blasted through almost right away, tried to duck but his cover was blown up before he could get there.

A blue ball of electricity hit Harry’s shoulder and he cried out but Snape didn’t stop. He was merciless.

Harry ran for cover and took a deep breath. He had to collect himself. This wasn’t a game.

“I didn’t call you here to play hide and seek, Potter!” Snape growled and the next moment the wall, behind Harry had hid, blasted through. Even with his shield up, the force of it sent Harry three feet back.

“Who the hell pissed you off?” He shouted back at Snape. He finally had an opening to fight back and he used it sending spell after spell at Snape.

Snape was causing lightnings now. He was so angry, not even the fighting was calming him. Harry suspected only a couple of minutes and he would be facing the impenetrable sphere again, just like on the first of September.

“That does not matter,” Snape barked at him. “But I would be grateful if instead of talking you started duelling finally!”

As he spoke, he sent a spiral of fire at Harry, which he blocked with pulling water from the broken pipe that stood out of the demolished wall.

“I’m fighting!” Harry shouted back as he made the water freeze in the air and sent the ice shards at Snape.

Snape flicked his wand and the top of a broken table rose from the ground. The icicles pierced through the wood, but none reached Snape.

Snape threw the table at Harry.

“I need you to focus, Potter, now more than ever. Put every drop of hatred you feel for me into your spells!

Hatred? The word echoed in Harry’s mind for a moment. Then he became truly angry.

With a flick of his wand the table crashed onto the wall and Harry jumped over the debris. He pulled up a shield and advanced on Snape while breaking the man’s spells before they could even get closer.

Hatred? How could Snape speak of hatred? After what had happened in his office, could he still truly believe Harry hated him?

He lifted a piece of wood from the ground with his magic, danced away from an incoming fireball, before he made the stake soar through the air. It missed and pierced into the wall inches from Snape’s head.

“I don’t hate you, you bastard!” He yelled at Snape, who suddenly froze in motion, looking at Harry surprised.

Then the turquoise magic around him suddenly quieted. There was a blast, its wind almost sweeping Harry off his feet, but then nothing, not even a light shimmer.

Harry kept advancing until he stood in front of Snape.

“I don’t hate you,” he repeated, snarling like a dog. “If I did, I would never help you.”

Snape just stared at him, panting slightly.

“Are we done?” Harry barked at him, unable to stand any longer in Snape’s presence. He needed to calm down, he needed to think, to figure out, what this all meant.

“Hand,” Snape said, almost automatically now, but Harry was already holding out his palm.

Snape grasped it, surprisingly gently and sent an electrifying wave of magic through Harry. It was so powerful it made Harry suddenly breathless and once again, standing half-hard only inches from Snape.

Harry turned and walked away without one more word. Not that he could say anything.

His feet eventually took him back to the Common Room. It was way past midnight, and the room was empty, only Ginny sat on the soft couch, staring at the fire. When she heard Harry climb in, she stood up and walked to him.

“I want to break up.”

It was such a simple sentence. Yet Harry could not say a word to it.

“Gin,” he tried, but nothing came after that.

“I can't take this anymore, Harry. You’re my boyfriend, yet in our relationship, Snape’s the one who comes first. I had enough. I can't do this anymore.”

She was right, he knew it. This, they were wrong. But whatever happened today with Snape scared him and he wasn’t ready to face it, to let go of the idea of his perfect girlfriend, and his perfect relationship in his perfect little life.

 “Please don’t go, Ginny,” he said quietly, taking her hand. “Please. Just… just give me some more time to figure this out.”

“No, Harry.” She said firmly, convincing herself too, it seemed. “I had enough.”

“He’s sick.” Harry said quietly. “Only I can bring him back to normal, Ginny. It’s not my choice. Please, give me one more chance.”

“I don’t, I don’t… Harry, I don’t care about him,” Ginny said pulling away. “I’m sorry.”

She turned away to leave but he reached for her again.

“Ginny, I love you. Please don’t go.”

Like magic words, the lies stopped her. She turned back.

“Really?” She asked hopefully. “Do you really love me?”

“Yeah Gin, you know I do.”

“But you never say it.” She said. “Not once. Ever.”

There was a reason for that. But that reason now was ignored.

“I love you,” he repeated.

“Come here,” she said then hugged him.

His perfect girlfriend was back in his arm, and come tomorrow, his thoughts of Snape would go away too.

He knew it was all a lie, but sometimes it was easier to swallow a lie then choke on the truth.


	10. I Dream of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Okay, let's address a couple issues. I dont know what's going on, but I'm getting more and more snarry hate nowadays then I used to back when I started writing. I love this community because there's usually no hate and people just leave us be. But more and more people seem like they need to address their dislike towards snarry. For these people I have only one thing to say and surprisingly it's not "Go fuck yourself", it's this: Go and enjoy the stories you actually like. Your negativity will achieve absolutely nothing. I feel bad for about half a second then I remember whatever I write, there will always be people who will not like it, who will (loudly) shout about not enjoying the content. I'm lucky because I still have a lot of people supporting me, keeping my spirits up with their positivity, but not everyone is this lucky. If I have met this discouraging behavior in the very beginning, I would not be here now. It's a shame how we act towards each other when the love for the same book, the same characters brought us here in the first place._
> 
> _And the other thing. It's perfectly fine to leave criticism, after all we're here to improve. But do not expect to be taken seriously when you dont even have the decency to sign in so the author can reply to you if they want._
> 
> _Now, off to the good stuff._

## X: I Dream of You

 

“So how are you and Ginny?” Hagrid asked sitting down, taking his mug in hand.

Harry crunched Hagrid’s cookie under his teeth then took a sip of tea hoping the wetness might help, but the cookie remained as dry as ever. He was forced to swallow either way.

“We’re great,” he said.

“Harry, you almost broke up last week,” Ron reminded him.

Hermione gave him a little slap, but Harry just smiled. “It’s fine. Yeah, but we worked it out.”

“Harry, you almost broke up?” Hagrid asked surprised.

“Yeah…”

“But why? You two are perfect together.”

That word, _perfect_ , had Harry’s stomach in a twist.

“Because of Snape,” Ron said simply. “Harry’s either studying or off with Snape nowadays. If my second-year self would see us now, he would let Aragog eat him.”

Hagrid harrumphed but not even he could say Aragog would never do such a thing.

“Not that you mind that I’m not around,” Harry shot back, giving a pointed look to both Ron and Hermione.

“Besides, I haven’t seen Snape in a week,” Harry said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“He wasn’t here, that’s why.” Hagrid told them.

“What? Where was he?”

“Off to the Ministry. Kingsley got the Department of Mysteries to try and figure out how to cure him, as far as I know. He will be back today, but I don’t think they managed anything.”

“Why do you reckon?” Ron said munching on a cookie.

“I lived here almost all my life, Ron. When you’re around Hogwarts for that long, you understand things, things not many people study.”

“Like Hogwarts’ magic?”

“Hogwarts itself did not have magic. Well, not really. Right, Hagrid?” Hermione chirped. “It was just an old castle when the Founders decided to have the school here.”

“Our Hermione is as clever as always.” Hagrid’s genuine praises always made her blush. “Over the centuries, the walls, the grounds, and every nook and cranny in Hogwarts became soaked through with the students’ and professors’ magic. Even the woodland was a simple forest, but magical beings could feel the power and grouped here, which is why it later became dangerous to enter the Forbidden Forest.”

He took a sip a tea before he continued, “I don’t think this, whatever happened to Professor Snape, can be reversed. Hogwarts took his magic, because she needed it. She repaid it with gratitude, and you cannot give back a gift.”

“So you say, he’ll be like this forever?” Harry asked saddened.

“It’s only up to him. He’s afraid of it now, Harry, but he needs to learn to control it. That’s what you’re helping him with.”

“Me? I’m just a punching bag.”

“I’m sure those are not his words,” Hagrid laughed. “He’s been a lot calmer lately, you know.”

“Oh, I definitely didn’t notice _that_.” Harry snorted. 

“Because you only see him when he needs you. But I see him around, and he is calmer. At the beginning of the term, that blue light was constantly shimmering around him. Now I barely see it. If it wasn’t for Wallace…”

A knock disrupted their conversation, and Harry was disappointed. What did Wallace have to do with anything? Could it be that he attacked Snape again?

“This will be him,” Hagrid murmured then stood up and went to open the door.

“Welcome back, Professor Snape,” he said, pulling the door wider. He motioned to the man to come in.

Harry felt suddenly nervous. This was the first time they had met since… since _then_. Harry had a theory, a very good theory why he reacted like that to Snape and this was the perfect time to test it.

“I did not mean to-,” Snape started, standing at the threshold for a moment, but Hagrid interrupted him and all but pulled him inside.

“Nonsense,” he said, under his breath. “Come, have some chamomile tea with us.”

Before Snape could decline, which Harry was sure he intended to do, Hagrid pressed a mug of hot tea in his hands and unceremoniously pushed him down onto a chair.

Snape huffed, and Harry, Ron and Hermione just watched him with a repressed smile. They probably had never seen their teacher this uncomfortable.

“Your batch is ready as well, just as promised, Professor,” Hagrid said, giving a small brown satchel to Snape.

“Thank you, Hagrid.” Snape said, grateful.

Harry eyed the bag suspiciously, then watched it as it sank into one of Snape’s pockets.

“It is just tea,” Snape told Harry when he noticed him looking. “A special mix of peppermint leaves and some calming herbs.”

Hagrid and Snape continued talking about some plant Slughorn needed and in the meanwhile, Harry kept observing his own reactions to Snape.

No, he definitely did not hate the man, but the previous… _excitement_ was nowhere either, so he felt calm.

He must be reacting to Snape’s magic. The blue, electric power was what intrigued Harry and not Snape. It could not be Snape. He had just missed Ginny, and then Snape’s magic made him feel things and it all got messed up somehow and that was why it all happened.

He could look at Snape now, and feel nothing. He didn’t want those long fingers sliding on his body, nor that deep voice whispering to him. It was all fine. He did not want any of those things. Really. He didn’t.

“So did they tell you anything at the Ministry, Professor?”

Snape did not even bother to pretend that Ron or Hermione shouldn’t know about this.

“My journey there was to no avail. They keep talking but they know no more than us.”

“Hagrid,” Hermione said, “What did you mean by if it wasn’t for Wallace?”

She looked at Snape carefully, as if making sure he was all right with the topic.

“I’m sure, dear Mr. Potter here, did not keep the fact that Wallace despises me a secret, either.” Snape answered.

“But that was at the beginning of the term,” Hermione said.

“His opinion remains unchanged,” Snape commented.

“It’s him, isn’t he?” Harry asked slowly, watching Snape’s reaction. “He’s the reason we’re fighting.”

“Professor Wallace is here on my request and for your benefit,” Snape said diplomatically.

“He’ll come around,” Hagrid said, smiling at Snape who practically hid behind his mug. “Our Professor Snape had proved himself over and over again. He’s a good man.”

“Oh yes, he’s absolutely lovable,” Ron murmured under his breath, but not quiet enough for Snape not to hear him. He only earned a glare with the comment though.

“Though I admit, that one time he _was_ very rude,” Hagrid added with a shrug. “I have never heard anyone talk to Professor Snape like that.”

“What time?” Harry asked suspiciously, “When was this Hagrid?”

Snape didn’t say anything to prevent Hagrid from answering though the half-giant even gave him an uncertain look, but then he said, “’Bout a week ago, last Sunday night. I was coming back from the Three Broomsticks after a little drink when I accidentally overheard them arguing.”

Harry’s gaze all but bore into Snape, but he didn’t say a word, stood Harry’s heavy stare without a blink. It was _that_ night. His first turn, the intense fight after that. It was Wallace after all. But what did they argue about?

“But why? Why does he hate you so much?” Ron asked, looking at Snape.

“He does not hate me,” Snape said. Ron raised an eyebrow as if highly doubting that fact. “He hates Death Eaters and as I was one of them, and there is none other around anymore, it is me in whom his hatred manifests.”

“All the Death Eaters are in Azkaban. What could they have possibly done that he can still not forgive?” Hermione asked, not really expecting an answer.

Snape surprised all of them. “They killed his daughter.”

o.O.o

After lunch, they left Hagrid and decided to go to Hogsmeade with the others. It had been a while since Harry had some free time where he did not have to deal with reading extra material for assisting Wallace, meeting Snape whether for a duel, or for Animagic lessons, or even practice with Ron and Hermione.

Ginny and Neville joined them later as they headed down the road to the village. The snow was gently falling, and it was such a beautiful December day, regardless of the clouds. The air was fresh, and the falling snow made the area almost eerily quiet. Nothing could be heard only the crunching sound their feet made, and sometimes the trills of birds.

He was holding Ginny’s hand and they were all laughing. Neville was recalling earlier visits to the village, while Hermione told them about the time when Harry had tricked Malfoy in his Invisibility Cloak. So many good memories tied Harry here.

They went to the Three Broomsticks for a drink and some chips. They huddled up in a darker corner and soon their little group became the loudest but probably the merriest also. It was so easy, Harry thought, to get lost in all this. This normality was what he needed so bad. He smiled at Ginny and kissed her softly. He was nothing more just a normal bloke now and it was okay.

Yet, there was something missing. It was like a hole in his heart. Things and stories, that used to fill him with happiness now he all but overlooked. Even Ginny’s hand on his leg that used to make his heart skip and beat faster, now felt as nothing more than the touch of a stranger in the crowd.

He could not understand why he felt so empty, or perhaps, he did not want to understand it. But the strange sensation stuck with him all afternoon.

“Why don’t you guys go ahead,” Ron said to the others when they came out of the pub after tea-time. He grabbed Harry by the back of his coat, so he couldn’t follow Ginny and then murmured, “Not you.”

The others gave them a weird look, but Ron just kept smiling, so they waved goodbye, then headed towards Hogwarts. Harry turned to Ron.

“What’s this about?”

“I need your help, Harry.”

“With what?”

Ron looked after their friends, but they were far down the road and they could not see them in the evening darkness. He grasped Harry’s hand dramatically then pointed at a window.

“With that.”

The display portrayed many dazzlingly glinting necklaces and heavy golden rings with big stones in the middle. White gold and silver chains, like serpents slithered around mannequins’ slim neck, bracelets shined lovely around wrists.

Astounded, Harry asked, “Are you going to buy her a _ring_?”

“What?” Ron cried. “No!” Then panicking yelped, “Do you think she’s expecting me to?”

“Oh, no,” Harry said quickly, relieved. “A bit too soon, I’d say.”

“I just thought I get her a necklace.” Ron murmured. “For Christmas, you know.”

They stared at the shop window for a couple minutes then Ron sighed deeply as if they sooner dared entering a dragon’s cave than a simple shop.

It was crowded inside, but not with people. Large glass cases showcased many different kinds of jewels and suddenly Harry understood why Ron dreaded this task. It was impossible to choose from these many options.

“We’re closing in ten,” a strict voice said from behind the counter. Harry looked her way to see an older woman, and though they were not in a cave, they certainly found the dragon. She had a triangle-shaped face and for a moment Harry could swear he saw horns on the top of her head, but it turned out it was just her spikey hair. She had hungry, yellow eyes and a displeased frown.

“We’ll be quick,” Ron said, but the woman moved out from behind the counter.

She eyed Harry for a second, then her sharp gaze assessed Ron, too. “For a girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Ron said blinking. “I was thinking-“

He could not finish the sentence; the woman took him by the arm and pulled him further into the shop. Harry could still hear her asking, “Tell me three things about her, son,” in an excited voice, then he found himself practically alone in the shop.

Harry kept browsing, looking at medals and chains, signet rings, engagement rings, bracelets and brooches. Silver, gold and white gold were the most popular materials, but the shop kept some interesting ones as well. Unicorn tail-hair holding a single pearl, colourful dragon scale bracelet, or a bone ring made from some kind of animal – hopefully.

Given he was already here, he could find something for Ginny, too. She would like a bracelet, or perhaps a ring.

Harry kept looking, going deeper and deeper into the shop. He heard the shopkeeper’s distant voice, but other than that, there was silence.

On a shelf covered with black silk, he noticed something glimmering. It was the familiar blue gleam that pulled him to the necklace. He took it carefully in his hand and lifted it.

It was very simple but very beautiful. On long black chain hung a smaller pendant. Wings made of the same dark material as the thin chain held a teardrop shaped stone. The stone was similar to opal. It had a magnificent blue iridescent colour, as if some strange power had been stuck in there, shimmering and shifting. As if a part of the sky was trapped in that single gem.

“Oh hon, if you need the power of a moonstone to calm your girlfriend, I don’t think you two were meant to be.” Said the shopkeeper behind him.

Harry, as if caught stealing, twirled around, staring at the woman with a wildly beating heart. Ron, thankfully, wasn’t there.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Moonstone,” she nodded at the necklace in Harry’s hand. “It has healing powers. It’s to balance excessive energy, or help you think. Giving that to your girl is like saying, hey, calm down and think this through, is _me_ really who you want?”

Harry watched the iridescent blue shimmering in the gem.

“Besides,” she said. “The ruthenium chain is more like for a man. If you want something special for your lady, I’d go with iridium, unicorn tale hair, or braided zouwu mane.”

“No,” Harry said brushing his thumb over the moonstone and the wings that enfolded it. “This will be perfect.”

o.O.o

Ron lay spread out like an eagle on the ground. Thankfully this time there were even pillows under him. He was resting after Harry made a dust-dragon chase him. Harry went there and crushed down on a pillow, too, while Hermione figured out how to proceed.

They were in the empty classroom on the seventh floor, next to the portrait of the witch in blue. Harry assumed it was safe to use for now.

“I don’t get why you’re doing it, mate,” Ron said with his eyes closed.

“What? This?” Harry asked motioning around the room.

It was pretty self-explanatory why he practised with Hermione and Ron – so Snape would not have a chance hurting him.

“Why you help him,” Ron clarified. “This hurts like hell, and you get nothing out of it.”

“You do it for me,” Harry said with a shrug as if that would explain everything.

“I’m your best friend, Harry.” Ron said as he cracked open one eye.

“Do you think I shouldn’t help him?” He asked Ron.

“What? No.” Ron sat up and looked at him. “I just can't believe you two went from hating each other to being friends.”

That made Harry laugh. “We’re not friends, Ron.”

“Harry, you don’t risk your life every other week for someone you’re not friends with. Or at least have mad respect for. I’m not saying I’m not okay with it or anything. It’s just weird that the two of you became so close given all you do is fight.”

Harry felt a sudden blush creep up his cheek.

“We don’t just fight,” Harry blurted out. He couldn’t tell the truth, not the whole thing. They would misunderstand. Yet, he had to say something.

Hermione joined them, claiming a pillow, too.

“What else do you do with Snape, Harry?” Ron asked carefully, as if afraid of the answer.

Harry did not answer. He could not. He suddenly remembered the blindfold, the touch on his thigh, hand shifting on his arm, and the voice, _everything_.

 “Harry…” Hermione said softly, touching his shoulder. “Is there something you want to tell us?”

“I’d rather show it to you,” Harry said then he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He didn’t want to turn into an owl without Snape being present, afraid that he had no one around to turn him back if he couldn’t manage on his own. Instead, he just shifted his hair. He could almost feel the white feathers sprout out.

Ron and Hermione gasped.

“He’s teaching you Animagic?” Hermione asked then said in an eager voice, “Oh my god, can I touch it?”

Harry laughed, “Yeah, sure.”

Ron stared at him relieved. “Mate, I really thought this was about something else. You got me scared for a second.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Hermione slapped his leg before she carefully touched his feather. “Oh, this is so pretty and soft! What are you trying to be? How far along have you gotten? I read it’s a lot easier than Sirius made it out to be, but it’s still hard and very dangerous.”

“’Mione, let the man answer.” Ron grinned.

Harry just smiled at his friends. “I’m a snowy owl,” he said. “And I can shift fully now, at least I managed to do it the last time. But I don’t want to turn unless he’s there too, in case something happens.”

“That’s awesome, Harry! Will you be able to fly and everything?”

“Of course, he will, won't you, Harry?”

“Yes, hopefully, I will.”

“But why did you keep it a secret?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. “It’s not always a wizard can shift. I guess, first I just wanted to make sure I can do it.”

It was not a lie, but it wasn’t the complete truth either. Harry kept it a secret out of an insane idea that it was something only him and Snape shared, something that was only _theirs_. Now, however, he felt he had something even darker to hide, something that was only his. Hopefully not even Snape realized yet how Harry reacted to his magic and it was probably for the best. Harry couldn’t live with that kind of embarrassment.

Suddenly Snape’s doe materialized in thin air.

Harry jumped up right away, his feathers melting into hair again.

“Come with me,” the doe said in Snape’s voice, and Harry ran to it, but it did not move.

It took him a moment to understand why, but it was too late. He could already hear Snape’s footsteps.

“He’s coming,” he told his friends and the next moment the door burst open. Ron and Hermione scampered up from their pillows. They were not supposed to be here, especially not way past midnight. Harry’s practice session just cost Gryffindor at least fifty points.

Snape looked at them surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?” He all but growled.

“They are helping me,” Harry said quickly.

Snape’s magic was simmering dangerously, and Harry could tell it took him every ounce of self-control to not attack just yet. Snape was fuming, not because of them, but something or _someone_ had made him livid again.

“That does not explain anything, Potter. _Your_ presence here is just as unexpected.”

“We’re practising duelling,” Harry answered.

Snape looked from him at Ron then at Hermione. “Leave us be,” he told them and they both sprinted to the door without a word. Harry could see fear in their eyes.

“What makes you think you are permitted to break rules just to help me?” Snape said quietly. There was a dangerous edge to his voice that sent a wild shiver down to Harry’s belly.

“I know I’m not.” Harry said. “But we can't do this in the middle of the day, can we?” Then, trying to divert the subject, he asked. “Did Wallace piss you off again? What did he do?”

“That’s none of your concern.” Snape said, pulling out his wand slowly.

Harry could feel the threat hanging in the air. They were seconds away from a duel, yet they kept talking, circling around each other. He felt a tension inside himself, but it had nothing to do with the blue shimmer of Snape’s magic that made Ron and Hermione scared. Harry was excited.

“Given I’m the one facing you now, I think it _is_ my concern.”

Snape huffed. “I appreciate the effort you’re willing to put into this, Potter. I really do. Without your help, I would have probably killed someone already. Yet I cannot let three students wander at night unpunished.”

“Let’s make a deal,” Harry offered with a grin. “If I win, and given our past encounters, that’s the more likely scenario, you don’t take points, don’t give detention, and we get your permission to use this room for practice two times a week.”

“And if I win?” Snape asked back.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, “Whatever you want.”

Snape’s magic suddenly pulsed even higher as if Harry’s cheeky words made it even more enraged.

Snape however just grunted, “You forget, Potter. I do not _want_ to win.”

“That’s not how it seems,” Harry said and then pulled his wand out with a quick motion, already sending spells Snape’s way.

Snape blocked it, dancing away from the way of the red sparks, black robes flaring around him like smoke.

“You will regret this,” Snape said with a smirk, and a giant ball of electric, blue fire came at Harry. “But, be it as you wish. Deal.”

Duelling Snape had never felt this good. It was electrifying even though Snape’s magic never even came close to him. Magnificent spells, ground shattering forces tensed against each other. A fire-breathing dragon rose from the ground but was swallowed by a giant snake. It coiled around Harry, its firm body pressing even the air out of Harry’s lungs, but Harry took control of it and turned it into many ropes.

The ropes slithered towards Snape who set them on fire, but some managed to evade his attention and tied his hands back. Harry thought for a second that he had won, but then Snape’s magic pulsed out. Snape was enveloped in blue fire, then the ropes turned to ash. He made a sweeping motion and the floorboards broke as if an invisible creature was crawling underneath.

It surfaced right under Harry’s feet and its force threw Harry in the air. In the last second, he summoned the pillows that minutes ago they had been lying on, and landed on them, then immediately rolled away, because the floor cracked beneath him again.

He flicked his wrist and sent the pieces of wood at Snape, sharp as daggers, and Snape conjured a shield. The broken floorboards splintered into pieces no bigger than a toothpick.

Panting, Harry stood up, wiping sweat from his forehead. Finally, Snape did not look any better, but he was clearly enjoying their fight as well. He had a satisfied smirk on his face as he waved his wand over his own body. Harry watched as his robes flew away and Snape took his wand between his teeth, while he rolled his shirt sleeves up.

Harry could not help but to grin satisfied. “I’m not saying I waited for this, but it’s good to see you’re made of human, too.”

Wand in hand again, Snape watched him, head tilted forwards slightly, lips curling into a dangerous smile. His black eyes glinted as he undid the top two buttons on his shirt. There was something in him that excited Harry. The faint tattoo on his left arm, the white skin, the lean body, the face should all have repulsed him, yet he felt drawn to Snape.

“Just flesh and bones, Potter, like everyone else.” Snape gave a half shrug.

Harry shook his head. “You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met.” He admitted, then attacked before either Snape or he could say any more.

His sudden attack must have surprised Snape because he was too slow to pull up a shield and Harry’s spell cut him on his upper arm. He looked at his injury for a moment, watched as his red blood soaked his pristine white shirt, then his intense gaze was back at Harry.

From then on, Snape became wild. There was a dangerous edge to all his spells, Harry could barely avoid them, or they even managed to graze him slightly. It was as if they danced on the edge and next to them was a pit of darkness full of lurking danger. Everything became slightly more intense, there were sparks in the air, literal and metaphorical as well.

They leapt away from magic and twirled out of the way of incoming objects. Shields raised and demolished, the classroom nearly shattered to pieces they all but destroyed everything around them, yet they came closer and closer to each other.

They were only a couple feet away, when Harry ducked down from a spell that singed his hair, then launched through the smoke it created. The next moment, as ash and dust settled around them, he stood two feet away from Snape, his wand pointed at the man’s face.

The blue magic was pulsing around the professor, but a powerful spell from this close distance could break through it and end the fight. A part of him did not want that. He was trembling with excitement, though his wand was held steady.

“This was fun,” he grinned at Snape, then flicked his wand.

Snape danced away from the spell. Harry felt a hand grab his wrist and then a pull, and the next moment the back of his body crashed against Snape’s front. A tip of a wand was pressed into his neck as Snape’s arm across his chest and his fingers grasping into Harry’s shirt held him steady. Harry grunted, not from pain.

“This _is_ fun,” Snape murmured close to Harry’s ear.

Harry could hear Snape’s fast breathing, feel the hot air on his skin. His eyes closed trying to get back his equilibrium, but it just made everything worse. The rainy, fresh scent was everywhere around him. He could feel every inch of that hard body that pressed against him from behind. He twisted, turned, pushed and pulled but soon he had to realize it wasn’t to get away from Snape.

“Do you give up?” Snape said in a dark voice. It sent a wild shiver down Harry’s body which scared him.

He grasped Snape’s hand on his chest to get it off him. This terrified him, it felt too good. _It’s his magic_ , he kept telling himself. His hand was on Snape’s, nails almost clawing at the man to get his hand off.

Snape pulled him in even closer if that was possible. Harry’s eyes shot open.

“You’re finally scared…” Snape grunted, head pressed against Harry’s. “Good…” he all but purred.

Harry could see themselves in the cracked glass of a window not far in front of him. Snape should have been happy to win over Harry, but it was not joy on his face. His skin was white, his lips slightly parted, his eyes closed, and his brows furrowed. He was worried, not victorious.

That thought made Harry strangely calm. He stopped fighting Snape’s hold on him and accepted it, realizing what it really was: an embrace.

The grip on his shirt weakened immediately and Harry covered the man’s hand with his own, entwining their fingers on his chest. The pulsing blue light zapped Harry’s skin, so he let go of his wand, hoping he would not be taken as a threat anymore. He held on to Snape’s lower arm with his other hand as well, and almost immediately, Snape’s magic quieted. It wasn’t electric anymore, it enveloped Harry’s hand, its power only a gentle caress now.

The pressure disappeared from his throat and Harry could hear the professor’s wand clatter on the floor as well. Then Snape’s right arm slipped around Harry’s abdomen.

It was such a soft embrace. So intimate, so fragile as if it could shatter any moment like the glass window.

“I’m not scared,” Harry said, because he felt he needed to say it out loud or more likely, because Snape needed to hear it. “Even if you hurt me once, twice or a million times, I will come back and help you as long as you need me. You won't get rid of me so easily, Snape.”

“I dream of you,” Snape murmured in a distant, quiet voice. His face shifted against Harry’s cheeks, he could feel the scrape of the professor’s stubble. Harry’s pulse quickened at the words.

Snape’s free hand moved up on Harry’s body and went around his throat. His fingers pressed into Harry’s neck deep enough to hurt, but not enough to make him unable to breathe. Harry’s head fell back, and a quiet groan escaped him. It wasn’t fear that made his heart beat wild.

“My hands are on your throat,” Snape said so close, his hot breath ghosted on Harry’s cheek. “You beg me, but I cannot let you go. I want to, but my hands do not obey.”

The words were out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop them. “Are you sure I’m begging you to stop?” He said in an almost silent whisper.

“I’m a danger to you, Potter. As much as you are a danger to me.” Snape said in a hoarse voice. “You should keep your distance from me and not make promises you will not keep.”

“I _will_ help you,” Harry said firmly.

“I _will_ hurt you.” Snape answered darkly then moved away from Harry.

Their fingers still entwined, Harry gave one last firm grasp to Snape’s hand. “You won't.”

Black eyes bore into him for a few more seconds, then Snape let go of him and moved towards the door.

“Professor,” Harry called after him.

Snape stopped, looked back over his shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“You won.” Harry said quietly.

Snape’s head turned back towards the door. “Let us hope it will not happen again.”

“What about our deal? This means you can ask for whatever you want.” Harry knew even as he said the words, how inappropriate this sentence sounded, just like his own thoughts were while he spoke it.

Snape took a deep breath, Harry could see his shoulders rise. “Whatever I want, hm?” Snape said softly and held out his hand to the side. His wand and cloak swished to him across the room, brushing Harry slightly as they flew by, then landed in Snape’s grasp. “We better forget this deal, Mr. Potter. It would not end well for you.”


	11. The Kiss of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I wanted to thank you all the support you sent me after I posted the previous chapter. It was heartwarming to feel all this love. We seem to live in a society when hate is louder than kindness, but you all proved that is not always the case. I'm honored to have such amazing readers :) Thank you, my lovelies!_

## XI: The Kiss of Death 

 

Another Sunday came and Harry was excited to continue his Animagic lessons, curious what came next. He had not attempted to change since that night, would not dare do it without Snape present, he had been warned more than enough times about the dangers of being lost in the mind of an animal.

It was already four in the afternoon, and still no letters came from Snape regarding when they could meet. Harry slowly became slightly anxious, wondering if Snape had forgotten about him, or even worse, thought not to teach him anymore after their last duel.

“ _I dream of you_ ,” the words still made Harry blush. He had dreams of Snape as well now. But he wouldn’t dream of a hand on his throat, grasping the life out of him, but of lips there, thin and sharp, all but cutting his skin with harsh kisses. He would dream of gentle touches, of electricity, of the scent of rain. He would dream of a body behind his. There was no face, never a face, but he could tell who it was, and the knowledge disturbed him.

He looked down at Ginny, who was lying against his leg, book in her hand. Beautiful red hair tucked behind her ears, she was reading, and as Harry watched her, he felt a horrible ache in his chest. He ought to dream of her, feel her touch on his skin. Why was it long fingers then and thin lips? Why black hair instead of this beautiful red?

He stirred slightly and slipped out from underneath her, tucking a pillow beneath her head. She still looked up.

“Where are you going?” She inquired with a smile.

“Just for a little walk. I need to clear my head,” Harry huffed, scratching his neck. “I’ll be back in a tick.”

She nodded, blew a kiss at him then return to her Transfiguration book. Harry watched her for one more second, then walked to the portrait. When it opened, he climbed out, chest feeling heavy as a stone as if every lie he had told her would weight it down a ton each.

He didn’t just come out for a walk, he had an exact aim, precise directions he needed to take in order to reach his destination: the headmaster’s study. He tried not to think, to linger on why he had just lied to Ginny about where he was going, why, to begin with, did he want to go there. He emptied his mind and let his legs move, knowing they would bring him where he wanted to go.

He was already in the corridor, eyes on the ugly gargoyle that guarded the entrance, when it suddenly jumped away. Professor McGonagall rushed down the stairs, with a couple books in her hand.

“Oh, Potter,” she greeted Harry, when she noticed him.

“Hello Professor,” Harry smiled.

“Looking for Professor Snape?” She asked as the gargoyle moved back to its place behind her.

Harry hesitated for a moment, feeling once again guilty, or even worse, like being caught while misbehaving, but then realized, McGonagall knew he was learning Animagic from Snape, it was her idea in the first place, and there was nothing wrong with inquiring about his next lesson.

“Uhm, yes,” he said in the end. “Professor Snape didn’t tell me when we’re going to have my next Animagic lesson.”

“Oh, he’s not in the office, I’m afraid,” she informed him. “He’s down in the Dungeons.”

“Thanks, Professor.” Harry flashed a smile, wondering what Snape was doing back down there.

He turned to leave, but she called after him. “Mr. Potter. The professor is brewing and hence not keen for visitors.”

“Oh,” Harry said, looking hesitantly in the direction he was supposed to go, then back at his teacher. “I see. I’ll… go back to the Common Room then.” He felt strangely disappointed.

“Wait, Potter, hold on,” said McGonagall when Harry moved to leave. “I should go down to inform him of the titles I borrowed from his library anyway. You could spare me the journey.”

“Yeah, of course” Harry said with a bright smile. “I could do that.”

“Well, that’s not something I see every day,” she noted amused with a raised eyebrow. “A student eager to see Professor Snape.”

Harry just chuckled. “I call tell you, I wouldn’t be so eager if he still taught me Potions not Animagic. His lessons were horrifying sometimes.”

“Yes,” McGonagall nodded amused. “Severus always had a flare for the dramatics. Brew glory, put a stopper in death and all that nonsense. Then again, the best potioneers in the country all came out from under his hands, so…We cannot complain.”

“He knows his way around potions, for sure. We can't deny him that,” Harry smirked.

“Yes, indeed. If only he knew his way with people just a fraction as well…,” sighed McGonagall, her sharp eyes twinkling. “Anyway, the titles I stole- _borrowed_ , I meant to say, are _The Dove in the Hat – A Key to Transfiguration, Elemental Magic – Water_ , and _Crime and Punishment_ , tell him he’ll have them back by next Sunday.”

“Sure, Professor,” Harry smiled. “Any other message?”

“Oh, yes, tell him to eat something. He missed lunch, and he’s like a Hungarian Horntail, when he is hungry and frustrated.”

“We can't have that,” Harry grinned.

“No, we can't.” Harry could swear he saw a small smile on the thin lips as the professor turned to walk away. “You’ll find him in a chamber next to his old classroom. Oh yes, and Mr. Potter, just walk in, don’t knock. The noise startles him, but he’ll feel your presence if you just approach him quietly.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry called after her as he headed down the corridors. It’s been a while, but maybe he would visit the kitchens and Kreacher there, too. He was sure the elves knew what Professor Snape would like to eat.

o.O.o

Kreacher didn’t let anyone near Harry. Apparently, he firmly believed that just because there were hundred other house-elves working there, it didn’t mean that anyone else beside him was allowed to serve his Master. Harry felt a rush of gratefulness, especially because now he realized why there was always a platter of treacle tart around him during dinners.

He left the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches and a large bottle of Gillywater. He headed straight to the Potions classroom, then once there he noticed another door on the right side. He didn’t knock as McGonagall instructed him, but opened the door quietly and stepped in.

The chamber was dark and dimly lit, and the scent of herbs and smoke lingered in the air. It was a smaller room, with shelves upon shelves crammed with ingredients and a large table for prepping. Professor Snape was there, too, leaning over a smaller cauldron on top of the table with an almost blue fire underneath it.

Harry said nothing, just slowly shuffled closer, trying to move as quiet as possible. Snape had his eyes closed in concentration. His long hair had fallen forward, like an ink of waterfall cascading down around his face, but it did not seem to bother him. Long, spidery fingers held a silver stirring rod gently as he was swirling the potion around.

Harry watched him, still not daring to say a word. Snape was counting the stirs, he could tell as he walked closer, he could even see the professor’s lips twitch sometimes.

Three times clockwise, one time counter-clockwise.

Three times clockwise, two times counter clockwise.

Three times clockwise, three times counter-clockwise.

Then the process started over. Harry watched him for quite some time, minutes passed in absolute silence then finally, the potion changed colour and turned into a simmering, toxic green. Only then, did Snape pull the stirring rod out and wipe it off on a cloth then turn to Harry.

“What brings you here, Mr. Potter?” he inquired and Harry was glad to see that nothing indicated that he was in any way upset with Harry’s presence.

“Professor McGonagall sent me to tell you she _borrowed_ some books from you.” Harry smiled.

“Ah, that thieving, old cat,” Snape groused. “What did she take?”

Harry listed the titles and Snape just shook his head. “Well all right, those won’t be missed at the moment.”

“I also wanted to ask if we’ll have a lesson today,” Harry asked hesitantly.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Potter,” Snape answered and to Harry’s surprise, he even seemed honestly contrite about it. “I am rather busy at the moment, and I must finish this by tonight,” he pointed at the potion, quietly bubbling away on the blue fire.

“Oh… I see,” Harry murmured. “Next week then. I brought you some food, eat it, or you’ll have to face Kreacher’s wrath.” He placed the plate and the bottle on the table. “I won’t bother you any longer. See you around, Professor.”

“Mr. Potter,” Snape called after him sounding tetchy all of a sudden. Harry turned back, wondering what he had done or said wrong.

“Yes, Professor?”

“After all these years, you dare doubt my capabilities as a Potions Master?”

“What?” Harry cried confused, “No! I never said that!”

“Then why, pray tell, do you think me so incompetent that I would not be able to brew with… some minor distraction lingering around?”

“Wh-what? You mean…?”

“I mean you may stay if you like. You are not bothering me. Besides, I need someone to watch over the cauldron while I eat.”

“Oh,” Harry watched the man surprised, who just pointed at a chair. “All right,” Harry shrugged, lips pulling into a grin as he sat down.

Snape walked to the plate and lifted the cloth that covered it. Five fingers ran through his long hair as he brushed it away, out of his face as he inspected the sandwiches.

“It’s just turkey and mayo with some provolone,” Harry told him. “The elves said you like that.”

“No tomato?” Snape asked, suspicious.

“No tomato, sir.” Harry confirmed, trying not to grin, then finally, Snape sat down, too and started eating.

Harry let him do it in peace and said nothing, just looked at the many ingredients laid out on the table between them. The potion bubbled merrily, smelling faintly of lemon.

“Get ready to stir,” Snape said suddenly, swallowing a bite and washing it down with some gillywater.

“What?” Harry said, jumping up from the table. “No, that’s not a good idea. This looks complicated.”

“I didn’t say finish brewing it, Potter, I said stir it. The rod is there, you saw me doing it when you came in, correct?” Harry nodded so Snape motioned at the cauldron. “Well then, you know how to do it. When the colour changes, you stir for five full cycles. Don’t mess it up, I rather not start from scratch.”

That was all the warning he got, because the next moment the colour changed from toxic green to lemon yellow and Harry had to stir. He concentrated hard and counted the motions and the full cycles as well.

It wasn’t that hard actually. It was easier to focus in the quiet chamber and once his initial panic subsided, he managed well.

Three times clockwise, one time counter-clockwise.

Three times clockwise, two times counter clockwise.

Three times clockwise, three times counter-clockwise.

Just three more times and it was all done. The potion changed back to its toxic green colour and Harry lifted the stirring rod out and wiped it off on the cloth as well, then placed it back from where he took it.

He looked at Snape eagerly.

“You are not expecting a praise, surely,” the man said, but Harry could see his lips twitching.

“ _You did well, Potter_. Say it, sir.” Harry grinned.

Snape eyed him for a moment, then repeated, “You did tolerably well, Potter, given the task was something a toddler could perform diligently.”

“But you wouldn’t let a toddler near your potion, would you, Professor? But you let _me,_ ” Harry said smugly.

Snape just huffed then finished the second sandwich as well. With the merest flick of his wand he sent the empty plate back to the kitchens.

He rose from the chair and went back to Harry’s side of the table. He continued measuring ingredients and dropping them into the cauldron. Some changed the colour of the liquid inside, some made it smoke like a chimney, but Snape was not worried about it. He worked with calm motions, never hurried, but always precise. There was not a single unnecessary gesture in his motions.

Harry watched him drop a small black feather into the boiling liquid that was dark red at the moment, like blood or like a glass of merlot.

The feather wasn’t iridescent with blue colours, but it still reminded Harry of a question he wanted to ask for a while.

“Why haven’t you ever shown me your Animagus form?” he asked quietly.

His question did not halt Snape’s motion, like liquid it continued. He took a knife in his hand and started cutting up a plant. He sliced blue flower after blue flower, shredding them into slim slices, perfectly similar like matches in a box.

“You never asked to see it.” Snape answered at last.

“I’m asking now. Will you show me?”

“No.” Snape said and though his hair had once again covered his face, Harry could tell he was, if not yet smiling, but at least amused.

“Why?”

“As you can see, I am busy slicing.”

“I’ll take over.”

Hand still not stopping, Snape looked up. His eyes glinted. “You? Don’t be ridiculous. You could not cut this evenly if I have marked you where to press down the knife.”

Harry huffed, but only said with a shrug, “That’s probably true.”

The rhythmic knocking of metal on wood was all but musical. There was something serene in watching the man move with such graceful motions, while the knife came down with a harsh sound on the cutting board.

“It’s almost calming to watch you do that.” Harry noted, eyes on Snape’s long fingers as they held the knife with a light touch.

“You think I look _calming_ with a knife in my hand?” The man inquired with a soft voice.

“Surprisingly.” Harry answered with a light chuckle then watched as the fluid motion slowed down then stopped. Snape put down the knife and stepped away from the table.

“I know I will regret this but… come here.”

Raising an eyebrow, Harry stood tentatively. “Don’t tell me I’m finally getting some extra lessons in Potions.”

“I’ll teach you how to properly handle a knife. The rest is up to you.”

 “You’re only seven years late,” Harry remarked, lips quirking.

Snape said nothing, though there was still a teasing sparkle in his eyes as he motioned for Harry to move in his place. Harry did so, then took the knife in hand. The handle felt weird against his palm. It was still warm from Snape’s hold, and very smooth, but it wasn’t any metal. It had an old, pale, yellowish colour.

“A good, sharp knife is every potioneer’s most important tool,” Snape explained and the next moment Harry felt his body press against Harry’s back, while a hand corrected his hold on the handle. “Thumb and index finger are opposite each other on the blade, you grip with those firmly as you steer the blade with them. The other three fingers curl around the handle loosely.”

The sudden deep voice in his ear and the lean body against him had Harry grip that blade strong enough to snap it in half probably.

“You still want to learn?” Snape asked, hand pointedly covering Harry’s on the knife.

“Yes,” Harry answered defiant.

“Then just relax and loosen your hold,” Snape said softly, fingers rubbing Harry’s to slacken his grip.

The touch only made Harry hold on even stronger. He could feel Snape shaking his head.

“Let it go,” said the man and Harry dropped the knife. “Take my wrist.”

“What?”

“Hold my wrist how I just told you to hold the knife.”

Harry hesitated for a second, then thought, this was not any different than Snape’s hand on his arm and thigh during training, so what the hell. He gripped the slim wrist. It felt as fragile in his hold as porcelain.

He heard Snape’s grunt in his ear, which made him shiver.

“Good god, Potter, if you grip everything like that, I feel honestly sorry for certain parts of your body.”

“Bloody hell _._ ” Harry flushed to a deep red colour as he stammered, “You didn’t just say that.”

“No,” Snape huffed. “I did not. Would you cease murdering my wandhand, please? I will still need the use of my fingers in the future.”

“Sorry,” said Harry, then quickly loosened his hold around the professor’s wrist. He tried his best to follow the earlier instructions, but his mind was stuck on the previous comment. He risked a side glance at Snape, but the man was watching their hands over Harry’s shoulder. Quietly, he took a gamble and asked, “What if I like it hard?” while keeping an eye on Snape’s reaction.

Snape just swallowed hard, then slowly turned towards Harry. The endless black eyes beckoned him like fire in the darkness. “No one likes it that hard, Potter.” Snape remarked dryly then took a deep breath. Harry was satisfied to see that the man looked utterly disoriented there for a moment, before he brought himself to press out, “Still a bit lighter, Mr. Potter, if you will.”

Harry must have gotten it then because Snape made him hold the knife once again, while he covered Harry’s left hand as well with his own. He spoke softly, with his tone remained steady, unlike Harry’s would be, if he opened his mouth.

“Now to your guiding hand. You’ll secure the ingredient with this, while also making sure not to cut yourself. It’s a lot like how you hold your talons as a bird, while in the air. Fingertips are neatly tucked away, blade resting against your first knuckle.” He explained and Harry watched as Snape touched the blade against his own knuckle. “And we start slicing.”

Snape moved the blade and with it Harry’s hand as well which was trapped in between the two. Their left hands shifted further and further down on the blue flowers as Snape slowly sliced, the motion once again rhythmic, though not as fast yet. Harry let him take control, let him guide their movements.

Against his best effort, he tried concentrating on the slicing itself, watch the blade move, try to understand how to do the motion itself, but mere seconds were enough for his mind to shut down, while simply letting his body enjoy the embrace that was not supposed to be anything more – once again – just a way of teaching.

He could feel his heart beat rapidly; every tap of the knife on the cutting board brought a heavy thump in his chest as well, like resonance, it echoed what it heard, or perhaps, what it felt coming from behind. His eyes were on Snape’s long fingers, slim, and bony, elegant, like the rest of the man himself. Tendons were protruding from under skin that had the same alabaster colour as the knife they held. Snape had no right to have hands this beautiful.

Soon Snape let go of him and Harry continued cutting on his own. Two fingers firm on the blade, three lightly coiling around the ivory handle, he slowly carved the blue flowers into match-like pieces, just like the professor.

“You might not be as abysmal at this as I first thought,” Snape remarked, still lingering right behind Harry.

“What high praise indeed,” Harry laughed as he cut up the rest of the flowers as well.

Snape took it from then, seized the knife from Harry’s grip with a swift, fluid motion then gathered the thinly shredded petals between the palm of his hand and the blade of the knife then dropped them into the simmering potion. They floated there, oozing their blue colour that seemed to taint the whole content of the cauldron and soon it changed once again, turning into dodgy brown.

“You know, Professor,” Harry remarked as he watched Snape collect and put into the cauldron even the last piece of flower, “I dare say, I almost would have enjoyed Potions if you had been more like this.”

“Like what, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked and his tone suggested that Harry should be very careful with his answer.

“You know… a little nicer and more helpful.”

“Well, maybe if you had been a little less annoying and idiotic, I almost would have enjoyed teaching you, as well,” he remarked drily.

He ran the blade over the wooden table a couple of times as if trying to gather something invisibly small that was still left there, though the board was empty, only slightly wet. When Snape held up the blade, Harry realized it was the wetness he wanted to collect.

“You see that little drop?” He asked holding the knife eye level for Harry so he could observe.

Harry only nodded, his gaze stuck to the little blue coloured droplet.

“This is said to be the sweetest, most divine substance in nature,” the professor informed him, then with a raised eyebrow, he asked, “Would you like to try it?”

“Why not,” Harry answered curious.

He was surprised to say the least, when he saw Snape touch his thumb to the liquid then lift it to Harry’s mouth, smearing the blue essence across Harry’s lower lip. He was suddenly petrified, eyes wide, slightly gaping at the man.

Harry grunted, the sound just a tad too needy, given the motion was over within a heartbeat. His tongue, though, chased after that finger, licked it when he caught up. It was a primal need Harry did not want to – _was not willing to_ think about, given who stood before him, whose black eyes were glued to his lips now.

Then the taste got to his mind.

It was like nothing Harry had ever tasted. It was sweet, but light, not like chocolate but like the scent of spring in the air, only he could taste it in his mouth. It was like a single drop of juice from the most honeyed peach, tangy and fragrant, refreshing like a gulp of cold water in the summer heat. If love had a taste, this was it.

“Oh my god,” Harry moaned loudly. “This is delicious.”

“As it is with most things forbidden to us.” Snape remarked, lips curving.

“Forbidden? Why is it forbidden?” Harry inquired.

“Because, unfortunately, it is highly poisonous.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “What?” He cried and glared at the man. “Did you just feed me poison?”

“There are many ways to call this flower, most of it even you are familiar with. My personal favourite however is Queen of Poisons.” Snape smirked. “It is the sweet touch of that deadly poison, which makes the taste so delicious in fact. They call this the Kiss of Death.” He said indicating the rest of the blue fluid tainting the edge of the blade.

Harry observed it, running his tongue over his lip once more, tasting only a phantom sweetness there, that he longed to try again. “That is a rather ominous name for something this good,” he noted swiping his index finger over the remaining essence.

“It is a rather ominous flower,” warned Snape as he grabbed Harry’s hand before he could taste the sweet liquid again. Harry looked up at him, intrigued.

“If you consume more than that you’ll die instantly,” He explained. “The poison etches itself into your heart and never empties from your system. Would you taste it again, it would immediately stop the beating. There is nothing good in this flower, Mr. Potter, merely its exquisitely divine taste that every man can enjoy only _once_ in their lifetime. One single moment of pleasure, while death lingers around.”

The last single drip of the Kiss of Death that remained was stuck to Harry’s pointing finger, painting it in a light blue colour. Harry watched it, thinking. He could not have it. His moment of pleasure was over. Or was it?

He moved his hand a little closer to Snape, could feel the man’s grip tighten just a little more around his wrist.

“Have you ever…?” He asked tentatively, his gaze on thin lips, finger twitching to make a move.

“No, never saw the appeal.” Snape noted. Harry looked up, his eyes met the dark gaze. He wasn’t aware that black fire existed, but now he could see it in that hard stare, could feel its heat.

Harry’s finger slowly drifted in the air until it hovered mere inches from the man.

“You should take it,” he suggested a little out of breath suddenly. “Before I kill myself. It’s very tempting, you see.”

“I can imagine,” Snape said softly, then brought Harry’s finger up to his mouth.

Before Harry could jerk his hand away – he knew he should, this wasn’t right, but god, he didn’t want to move – thin lips parted, eyes like obsidian flashed in the dim light of the chamber and the next moment Harry felt them on his finger, just merely there. Teeth held his digit in place, while a wet tongue gently drifted over it and licked off the blue essence. It tainted slightly Snape’s thin lips and Harry watched it, mesmerized until the man licked it off, leaving nothing behind, just a pleased smile on the usually stoic face.

“Oh,” Harry groaned, trying to quell the sudden burning in the pit of his stomach, “Aren’t you just the selfless hero.” He wanted to sound smug, but his voice came out more of a whimper.

“We can't have the great Harry Potter die, can we,” Snape said as he pulled back. There was still something in his eyes, something dangerously sweet like the Kiss of Death.

“Oh, come on,” Harry tried to pass off the tightening in his chest with a careless joke and said, “Don’t tell me there weren’t times when you wished for my death.” He grinned not thinking much of it, but Snape’s expression changed the moment the words were out of his mouth.

“How can you even say that to me?” He asked in a dark voice, like distant thunder it rumbled, went deep beyond Harry’s ears, he could feel its echo in his heart, or perhaps it was the poison as it etched deeper inside, crawled into depth untouched until now.

The black gaze was on him, intense and honestly hurt and Harry wanted to apologize, he should have, he really should have but no words came, then Snape grasped his wrist more firmly, and whispered with reserved passion as if it would be the greatest secret that had burnt him from inside for years, “I would have _died_ for you, you fool.”

The force of the words, the intensity of the voice was like a slap in the face, like a hand clenching around his heart, and Harry wanted to run because he didn’t know how to react to this, because it might have been sudden like a hit, but it was more like an embrace, filled him with warmth but Snape and warmth were just not things that came together.

Yet, his mouth opened, and he didn’t yet know what he would say, he just looked in those eyes, really looked in there, took in the darkness, the endless road that led to the man’s soul and there were things he wanted to do, things more dangerous than swallowing poison though equally sweet he imagined, and imminently more terminal yet still worth it.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” was all he pressed out in the end, because weirdly, he was glad. He was glad that Severus Snape was not dead, but right here in front of him, his smell like rain and forest, his taste probably still sweet like spring, eyes afire like a violent demon ready to sink his teeth in Harry’s flesh. And worse than that was that Harry was not sure he didn’t want that, those teeth, those lips against his skin, those hands to claw at him.

Then Snape moved, like fluid his hand flew in the air and he pulled Harry closer by his wrist. “Why do you think taking your life is my greatest fear? I would rather die myself than let anything happen to you.”

“Nothing will happen to me.”

“I will, Potter.” Snape spat. “One day I will not be able to stop myself.”

“You won't hurt me.” Harry said what felt like for the millionth time.

Snape let him go then, and laughed, it sounded a little manic and very foreign given Harry had never heard the man laugh.

“Get out of here before I get you a taste of something else, too.” Snape threatened but there was a teasing gleam in his eyes that made Harry less uneasy, too.

“All those nice words,” Harry grinned, as he walked to the door, “but I bet now you want to kill me just a little bit.”

“Kill you?” Snape echoed. “Not quite.”

o.O.o

Dinner went quietly given they arrived relatively late and there was not many people around by the time they finished.

“Have you ever heard of the Kiss of Death?” Harry asked Ron and Hermione as he leaned back on his chair.

“The band?” Ron asked with a frown. “If you listen to that crap, I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“No, it’s from Queen of Poisons.”

“Oh did they finally come out with the new album?”

“Ron, I’m not talking about music.”

“What? The flower then?” Ron asked, confused.

“Yeah. You know it?”

“So do you, Harry.” Ron said. “The Queen of Poisons is just Wolf’s Bane.”

“Oh…”

“Where did you come across the Kiss of Death?” Hermione inquired, blinking up from the Evening Prophet.

“Snape told me about it, while we were brewing.” Harry shrugged, his tongue running across his lower lip as he recalled the memory.

“Wait, hold on mate.” Ron complained. “I must be going deaf, because I just heard you say you were _brewing_ with _Snape_. On a _Sunday_ afternoon. There are so many things wrong with that sentence I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well… he was brewing, I was mostly just watching. And stirring. And chopping a bit.” Harry said proudly.

“Blimey Harry, do you have a fever or something?” Ron asked with a grimace.

“I always wanted to try it,” Hermione said quietly, looking away from the paper. She had a little blush on her cheeks as her gaze turned at Ron. “Didn’t you?”

“What? The Kiss of Death? Sure… I mean…” Ron was blushing now too, and Harry was starting to feel a little anxious.

“It’s just so romantic,” Hermione sighed.

That just made Harry’s cheeks heat up as well. “Hermione, it’s a deadly poison. How is that romantic?”

“Well, because of the tradition.” She answered, but when Harry still just looked uncomprehending, she further explained. “It’s a wedding tradition. Sharing the Kiss of Death.”

“ _What_?” Harry all but screamed. He could feel the blood drain from his face.

 

“C’mon Harry, everyone knows about Cassius and Amelie. They are as famous lovers as Romeo and Juliet.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Never heard of them,” Harry shook his head, panicked. What the hell did she mean by _wedding tradition_?

“It’s an old legend,” Ron started, “about a wizard called Cassius, who falls in love with a princess, called Amelie after he selflessly saves her life. He’s madly in love but the king would never let her marry a man like him. When the king finds out that it was Cassius who had saved his daughter, he allows him to ask for anything in return. All Cassius wishes for is to have just one more glimpse of her exquisite beauty, but Amelie is secretly also in love with him too, so she insists that only her husband should be allowed to see her twice. Cassius, obviously, has to go through all kinds of challenges and trials to prove his love for Amelie, and in the end, the king lets them marry. This is where it gets all bad,” He sighs. “One of her handmaids who used to be Cassius’ lover is jealous and tells her about this essence that will make their first kiss taste so good Cassius would never look at another woman again. So on the wedding day Amelie covers her lips with the essence. Cassius notices the tainted lips, but he already tried the essence with the handmaid so he couldn’t kiss Amelie.”

 “Yeah, but Cassius realizes he just loves her too much and would never leave Amelie. He would even die just to kiss her again. So in the end, Cassius does kiss Amelie’s lips, blue with the essence of the flower and, of course, dies immediately. Everyone believed that he died because he loved Amelie too much and his heart could not bear the happiness of having her finally in his arms. That’s why they call it the Kiss of Death.”

“They say you’ll never taste anything as sweet and divine as the essence of Wolf’s Bane,” Hermione noted, wishful.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Harry admitted absentmindedly, still thinking of the legend.

Ron and Hermione froze then exchanged a look before they both gaped at Harry. “Wait, you tried it?”

“Yeah, we were cutting Wolf’s Bane and it was there.” Harry admitted sheepishly.

“Oh my god, Harry!” Hermione yelped, covering her mouth while blushing furiously.

“Harry you shared the Kiss of Death with Snape?” Ron gawked.

“Gods, no, we didn’t kiss! Are you mental?!” Harry hissed, lowering his voice, before someone would hear them.

“Harry that doesn’t really… I mean… oh god, how do we explain.” Hermione stuttered, looking hopefully at Ron that he could help out.

“What? What did I do?” Harry asked desperate.

“Harry that’s like…” Ron sighed, gulped heavily, then collected himself. “Given one drop of essence of Wolf’s Bane cost half a fortune and you can only do it once in your lifetime, people tend to put a great value on it. It’s like a promise of purity. That’s why they say your lips have been tainted once you try it.”

Somehow, for reason that Harry did not at all understand, being tainted by Snape did not sound half as bad as it should. Indecent like hell, but not bad at all.

“We live in a more modern world now, Harry,” Hermione tried gently. “Like virginity, this has lost most of the significance of its symbolism. But it’s still… Never mind, it’s not a big deal. Just… don’t go around telling everyone about it.”

“But then it is a big deal, isn’t it?” Harry asked back grimly. “You just said you wanted to do it.”

“Well, you know… It’s like a white wedding dress. That’s supposed to mean the bride is still pure and let’s admit it, that’s usually not the case.”

“Don’t worry mate, you didn’t know. And most wizards don’t get to try it in their whole life anyway, so at least you got that for you.”

Regardless of their reassuring words, Harry caught a glance between the two that seemed almost worried. Now that he understood what it meant, he doubted this was anything Ginny, for example, would just brush off with a forgiving smile. In fact, he wondered if this didn’t mean he had just cheated on his girlfriend.

“How the bloody hell do you know these things?” He looked accusingly at his friends.

“Well I was born into this, I guess.” Ron shrugged. “Mom always said things like _rather many laughs, than one kiss of death_. You haven’t heard that one?”

Harry shook his head. “And you?” He looked at Hermione. “You’re a muggleborn. How have you heard about this but not me?”

“I read,” she said dryly. “Wouldn’t hurt you either, once in a while.” She noted teasingly, then went on, “Kiss of Death became a colloquialism over time. It’s supposed to represent something that you desire so badly, that having it would only end up killing you, like the second drop of the poison. The idiom is used for something you want more than anything, but is not good for you.”

Harry remained quiet, not sure he could press out even a word at the moment.

“Is it really as good as they say?” Ron asked quietly after a while.

Harry remembered lips on his finger, a wet tongue licking his skin, black eyes burning. “Better,” he whispered.

o.O.o

They were on their way back to the Common Room, when they heard the raised voices. Harry recognized them right away and ran towards the Defence Against the Dark Art classroom, with Ron and Hermione in his heels.

The door was slightly open and he pushed it in, suspecting what he would find in there, and he was not wrong. Wallace was shouting at Snape, while the man stood across the classroom, all but glowing with the blue light.

“You are dangerous, Snape!” Wallace cried. “Look at yourself, you will end up killing someone one of these days! I will not stand by and watch you hurt any of my students! They say you already killed a person!”

“She was hell bent on killing Potter so I will not feel bad for that, if you’ll excuse me.” Snape sneered.

“You almost killed him, too, is what I heard. Never, Snape,” hissed Wallace. “Your duels will not end well, and if you hurt the boy, I’ll make sure to set hell lose on you, you got it?”

Snape’s magic pulsed and Harry could tell they were only moments away from that sphere of magic to form around the professor, so he stepped further in the classroom.

“Appreciate that Professor,” Harry called, “But I can handle the headmaster.” He said that with a bit more confidence than he felt, given he had lost their last duel.

“Get out,” Snape snarled and for a moment Harry thought that was meant for him because Snape was eyeing him with an intense gaze, but then the man turned to the other professor and repeated, “Get the hell out of here, Wallace.”

“Please, Professor,” Harry turned to the man as well. “Leave him to me, I can handle this. But you need to leave.”

“Harry, I cannot just leave you here with clear conscious. He’s dangerous, for fuck’s sake.”

“Please, Professor,” Harry begged, but the man was not willing to budge. From the other side of the classroom however, Harry could feel Snape’s pulsing magic. He looked back at Ron and Hermione. “Get him out of here,” he said then immediately moved closer to Snape while he heard Ron and Hermione drag the other man out of his own classroom apologizing about it every second.

Harry’s wand slipped into his hand. “Looks like I’ll still get my lesson tonight,” he grinned then shot a spell at Snape who blocked it then spent four others at Harry. Harry hid behind his shield, then attacked again while he tried to hold against the blasts.

“You already had a lesson today, Potter, you are just too dense to listen.”

Their fight wasn’t any more serious than previously, in fact it felt less intense than the one Harry had lost. More than once Harry almost got the upper hand and he could tell already this would not take long.

Spells flew between them like scathing remarks used to then suddenly, one of his Cutting Spells had reached Snape. He blocked most of it with a desk that hovered in front of him, but the edge of the curse cut across Snape’s mouth and made him bleed slightly.

Harry watched the pink lips smeared with angry red. Snape looked savage, as he stood there, wiping it off with his finger. Wallace was right, this man was dangerous, but Harry found him so for a completely different reason than anyone else.

_Tainted_ , the word echoed in Harry’s mind. _By you._

He never even saw the spell that knocked him off his feet. Barely felt the pain, too, in the first few seconds. He just wanted to breathe, but he couldn’t. There was no oxygen anymore and the harder he tried to inhale the harder it became, and the more pain he felt. He writhed clutching at his chest, at his throat, and he was terrified because he could not feel his throat, just warm, thick wetness, and raw flesh. Disgustingly sweet scent hit his nose, it was nauseating.

He wanted to look for Snape, but he could not lift his head, then suddenly the man’s face swam in his vision. He looked terrified _and_ terrifying all at the same time, his expression was of utmost pain, yet Harry saw lightning around him, zapping, crashing into the ceiling, and Harry, too, but he was not hurt, which was impossible, so maybe he just hallucinated it all – the pain was so great now, it would be no wonder, really. He just wanted to breathe, just a gasp of fresh air, please, smelling of rain in the summer, of a forest, please, _please_.

His hand was brushed away and long fingers wrapped around his throat – around the flesh that _used to be_ his throat, he knew even if he couldn’t see it with his own eyes, he saw it in Snape’s horrified expression.

“It was my fault,” he tried telling the man, but nothing came out of his throat just raw grunts and blood.

It was true. It was his fault. In the heat of a duel, he should never have allowed himself to think about Snape’s hand on his, about his lean body against Harry’s. He should not have recalled memories of Snape pressing against him, causing an upsetting heat pool into his groin, of black eyes singeing his soul while Snape tainted his lips.

He should have had many regrets, lying there on the floor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom seconds from dying, yet as he looked up at the man, trying to tell him it was not his fault, trying to ease his pain – the pain Harry should have felt but somehow it was all in there, in those black eyes – there was only one thing he regretted more than anything: that he couldn’t have tasted the Kiss of Death directly from Snape’s lips.

It was probably for the better. His heart, like Cassius’, would have stopped immediately.


	12. Crossroads

# Part Two: Wings

 

_"The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings."  
— J.M. Barrie_

 

## XII: Crossroads 

 

Flying at night must be like this. The darkness like a soft blanket surrounded him. He was floating in nothingness. There was no ground below, no sky above, just pitch-black darkness that he soared through. No wind, no clouds, no sounds, no lights just the perfect oblivion.

He tried looking around, but couldn’t see anything, except his own body. But instead of white wings, he had featherless arms and legs. He should not be able to fly like this. Realization stuck, and he panicked.

He started falling. The wind hollered in his ears and the darkness swallowed him up.

Harry woke with a jerk.

“Welcome back, mate,” he heard Ron’s voice from the side.

He opened his eyes and turned towards his friend – or at least tried. He grunted loudly. His whole body shrieked like unoiled gears forced to move. He stayed motionless for now and only tried to find Ron with his eyes.

Glasses were placed on his face and a red head swam into his vision.

Harry licked his parched lips, trying to say something, but other than a groan, nothing came out.

“Drink,” Ron said, and Harry felt wetness at his mouth. He opened it as much as he could, and cool water was poured in. He swallowed, once, twice many times. It wasn’t just water, it had a herbal taste, only mild, but it lingered. It helped, though. Harry felt a lot better almost immediately.

“What happened?” He croaked, pushing himself up on the bed.

He was in the Infirmary and he supposed it was the middle of the night. It was dark outside and only a couple of candles were lit. The castle was in absolute silence.

“Snape,” Ron said quietly. “You two had a fight three days ago. He won.”

“I was out for three days?” Harry moaned.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “It’s almost Christmas. Everyone went home for the Holidays.”

“You shouldn’t have stayed, either.” Harry told him, looking at the blue eyes appreciatively.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ron laughed. “We thought you’re going to die, Harry.”

Harry looked around again. “Hermione?”

“She’s getting books from the Library and some snacks from the house-elves. It’s pretty boring around here, you know, just listening to your breathing.” Ron smiled. “She’ll be back in a bit, I’m sure.”

“And…” Harry hesitated. “Snape?”

Ron’s gaze moved to the bed next to Harry’s for a moment, then he sighed. Harry looked there too, expecting to see a sleeping body there, but it was just clean white sheets.

“How much do you remember?” Ron asked in the end.

Harry searched his memories.

“He hit me with a spell, I guess. I was on the ground. Everything hurt. I… I wanted to tell him something, something he needed to hear, but I couldn’t say a word. Then it was darkness, and then I woke up.”

Ron seemed uncomfortable talking about it, which made Harry’s stomach twist into a tight knot and sink. “Ron, what happened?”

“He uhm… Harry, you couldn’t speak, because he cut your throat.”

Harry snatched his hand up to his neck, but he could not feel any injury there, not even bandages. “It was my fault,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t paying attention to the fight.”

“It does not matter, Harry.”

“It does!” Harry said loudly. “It was my fault! I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have…” He tried getting out of bed, he needed to tell this to Snape, to everyone. They needed to know. It wasn’t Snape’s fault. It was his.

“Harry,” Ron said, pushing him back to bed. “Calm down, Harry! It’s all right, just calm down!”

“Where’s Snape?” Harry asked, urgently, looking around the room again, as if just by mentioning him, he could summon the man.

“Harry, lie back!” Ron pleaded. “You need to rest. He’s in his study, I guess.”

Harry crashed back into the bed. He had a very bad feeling. “What do you mean, you guess?”

“No one had seen him around, since the accident. And yes, people call it an accident, and not a fight or an attempt on your life. McGonagall was there, too, luckily. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise?” Harry asked back impatient. “Ron, could you please start making any sense?”

Ron glared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “All right, all right. Let me start at the beginning, then.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “So, we were out there, trying to hold back Wallace, and we managed for a while, then McGonagall came, and we were trying to explain to her what was happening, but then Wallace managed to unlock the door and go in. I guess that’s what threw you off, because the next moment, Snape’s spell… it hit you. You crashed to the floor and…”

“And?” Harry asked.

“Wallace ran in, McGonagall tried to stop him, but she couldn’t. He was screaming at Snape, calling him a murderer and… it was chaos. Snape was… he was…”

Quietly, Harry only said, “It’s his biggest fear. Killing me, I mean. I saw his boggart. It was my body telling him he killed me.”

Ron watched him for a moment, all but astonished, then he went on with a soft voice.

“He ran to you, calling your name, but you didn’t answer. You were still conscious and there was blood _everywhere_. He wanted to… heal you, I guess, but Wallace pushed him away. _That_ made him real angry.”

“Did he hurt Wallace? Or anyone else?”

“No… but it was… _so_ scary, Harry.” Ron whispered, shuddering. “Suddenly, there was lightning around him. It was like a thunderstorm in the room. The light coming out of him threw Wallace to the wall, then he went to you. McGonagall told us to stay away, so we watched as he took you in his arm. He can heal with his touch, Harry.” Ron said with awe.

“I know,” Harry nodded. “That’s how he heals me after the duels.”

“The lightning didn’t hurt you, and your wounds started closing. But his magic didn’t quiet down. McGonagall was talking to him, trying to calm him down, but Wallace kept shouting. I didn’t hear McGonagall, but she gave him something, a potion I reckon, and he drank it. Must have been some sort of sedative, because it knocked him out like a hippogriff. He was here for more than a day,” Ron nodded to the bed he was eyeing a couple minutes ago. “Then he disappeared.”

Harry rubbed his face. “I need to talk to him.”

“No one’s blaming him, well, except Wallace. It was an accident.” Ron repeated.

“Yeah, he won't believe that. He’s blaming himself, I know it, Ron.”

o.O.o

Two days later, Harry still had no news of Snape. It was Christmas Eve and he had sent Ron and Hermione home. He almost had to beg them to at least spend one night away from the Infirmary. They promised to be back next day with baskets of food from the Burrow.

Ginny visited a day before but did not stay long. They barely had anything to say to each other. She blamed Snape, and of course, Harry couldn’t tell her why it was his fault that he did not pay attention.

Harry woke up many times in the middle of the night, wanting to go to the man, but something stopped him: fear. He wasn’t afraid of Snape, he still trusted him, knew the professor would never want to hurt him. He was afraid of himself, of what he would say or do, would he see Snape again. He wondered, afraid of the possibilities, what kind of consolation he would offer.

Come Christmas morning, he made a decision. He grabbed his wand and conjured his Patronus.

When his stag materialized, he told him, “Take a message to Professor Snape for me. Tell him to come to me. We need to speak.”

He waited and waited. House-elves brought him his breakfast, Madam Pomfrey came to check on him. She prodded him with her wand but found nothing wrong. Harry seemed healthy again, thanks to Snape’s magic, but she still insisted he stayed there at least until Ron and Hermione got back. He could go home with them.

Finally, almost at midday, the Infirmary doors opened, and someone headed to Harry’s bed. Expectantly, Harry put down the book he was reading and sat up. The curtains were pulled away, but it wasn’t Snape who stood there.

“Professor Wallace?” Harry asked surprised.

“Hello, Mr. Potter.” The man said. His dreadlocks were carelessly tied back, and he had a light smile on his face. He looked so youthful as he sat on the edge of Harry’s bed. Harry remembered what Snape had said about Wallace’s daughter. He couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to lose one’s child.

There was a part of him, who understood Wallace’s motives, but he still couldn’t accept it.

“How are you?” Wallace sounded concerned.

“Pretty good, actually,” Harry answered.

“May I?” He asked, his hand coming closer to Harry’s neck.

Harry nodded and Wallace carefully tipped his chin up with a finger, examining his throat where he had been cut.

“You healed nicely,” was all Wallace commented on it, then he let Harry go.

“Yes,” Harry answered. “Professor Snape always makes sure to heal me.”

“How many times did this happen?” Wallace asked. His voice remained soft, caring.

“We duel,” Harry shrugged. “Accidents ought to happen from time to time.”

“Time to time… or every time?” He asked carefully.

Harry looked away. “It’s a duel,” he only said in the end.

Wallace considered him for a long moment. “You don’t have to do this, Harry,” he told him softly. “No one, _no one_ , can force you to do this.”

“He’s not forcing me to do anything, Archie.” Harry told him, looking up the warm brown eyes. “I’m helping him because I want to.”

“Any debt you might have had, you paid when you ended Voldemort.”

“It’s not a debt.” Harry admitted, his fingers brushing the cover of the book in his lap. “It started as that, as wanting to help him after all he has done for me, but it’s not like that anymore. I just want to help him. He deserves a normal life, too.”

They were quiet for a while, then Wallace touched his arm to have Harry’s attention. Only then did Harry realize he was once again staring at the book in his lap. “Look, Harry, I know you think highly of Snape-”

“Professor Snape,” Harry corrected him almost as a reflex.

Wallace sighed but continued with, “ _Professor_ Snape, then. But there is something I want you to know.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I know Death Eaters killed your daughter, and I am sorry. I am terribly sorry for your loss, Archie. But it wasn’t Professor Snape, he fought for the Order, for us. I was there, I saw it.”

Wallace watched him carefully. “The Death Eaters did something a lot worse to my daughter, Harry. And to me.” He said quietly. “I got some enemies in the last war, enemies who never forget. After the first war, I used to live in the States, I had a wife and a daughter. Her name was Amanda.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture that was folded in half. He showed it to Harry who looked down at it.

The little girl on the picture was around twelve years old. Her skin was a couple shade lighter than his father’s, but she had his kind eyes. She had lots of curly hair and a very lovely smile. Someone’s arm, her mother’s Harry presumed, was around her shoulder and she was looking up at the person, laughing.

“Two years ago, I came back to help the fight against Voldemort. Amanda studied in Ilvermorny, the American school I used to teach at, so I couldn’t see her during the semester at all. I terribly missed her and in the end, she convinced me to let her visit. We were attacked one night. They dragged us out of the house wandless and took us away. They separated us. I was kept in a cage, I didn’t see food for days, but I didn’t care. All I wanted to know if she was alive. I begged them, but they didn’t want to hear me. You know Greyback, don’t you?”

The name made Harry frown. “He’s pure evil, if there’s one.”

“He was my captor, but there were many of them. They did not need to cover their faces, they were safe. I saw them all; Malfoy, Crabb, Lestrange, I could ever hear the Dark Lord himself sometimes when he visited. They were talking about _him_ , too.”

“Professor Snape, you mean.” Harry said. He suspected that to be a case, in fact it was a wonder Wallace and Snape didn’t meet. Snape must have visited the Manor, or wherever the Death Eater meetings were held, regularly. “He was a spy.”

“That’s not what I heard. I heard your name, many times. He hated you, you know. He would have been glad if they killed you. Voldemort praised his loyalty. Snape told them about Dumbledore’s plan, he told them everything.”

“You’re wrong,” Harry told him. “I know Professor Snape.”

“You might think that.” Wallace said. “But I don’t think there’s a man on this planet who truly knows Severus Snape.”

“You need to let him be.” Harry said. “Just don’t talk to him, don’t anger him, leave him alone.”

“It’s not right that a Death Eater deeply involved with Voldemort walks freely. He should be locked up in Azkaban.”

“Professor Snape has not been a Death Eater for many years.”

“The Mark on his left arm says otherwise.”

Harry knew he couldn’t convince the man, so he just shook his head. “Just leave him be. The more you anger him, the more I have to fight him. _You’re_ the one putting all of us in danger.”

“He’s the danger, Harry. Not me.” Wallace said before he stood and left.

o.O.o

Harry was allowed to leave in the afternoon. He did it with a certain bitterness in the heart. Snape never came to him and they didn’t have a chance to talk about what had happened.

Christmas at the Burrow was as much fun as ever, but not even the festivities managed to stir Harry’s thoughts away from Snape. The twins did everything they could, showed him all their new tricks, Bill and Fleur gave him little Victoire to play with. Ginny tried to be alone with him, but Harry all but avoided her. He felt guilty being with her when all he could think about was Snape. They had a small argument at the end of Christmas, which gave Harry a good reason to leave quietly the next morning.

Once back in the castle, he went straight to Snape’s office without even changing to robes. However, no matter how desperately he pleaded, what words he tried, the gargoyle relentlessly stood in the way, not letting Harry through.

Once more, he tried sending a message with his Patronus.

“Come and see me at the empty classroom in an hour, or I blast this gargoyle through your door.”

He marched up to the classroom on the seventh floor and nodded at the witch in blue before he walked inside. It was as they had left it the last time. Some pillows were scattered on the dirty floor, so Harry collected them and sat down on the pile, waiting impatiently. If Snape didn’t come, he would throttle the man himself, no matter what.

He did not have to wait long. The sound of hurriedly approaching footsteps drifted to him, then the door banged open and Snape marched in. He must have been in a hurry because he didn’t even have his robes on just the usual white button-down and black slacks. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and he would have seemed casual, until one looked at his face. He was fuming. 

“How dare you send messages like that to me?”

Harry felt a sudden need to stand up and hug the man regardless of his temper. Instead he stayed on the pillows.

“It was probably the only thing that could get you to abandon your self-imposed exile.”

Snape glared at him but before he could open his mouth Harry went on.

“Thanks for checking in on me, by the way. I didn’t die, just so you know.” Harry said, voice light and teasing.

Snape snarled, the idea that Harry thought he didn’t care about his well-being obviously infuriated the man. _That_ warmed Harry’s heart a little.

“I healed you, I knew you would be fine.”

“Oh yes,” Harry said with a smug smile, “thanks for that, too.” He drew his fingers over the line of his unmarked neck. Black eyes were stuck on his skin. “Would have been happier if you left me a scar though… you know, to mark the occasion.” He stood up and walked closer to Snape. “It’s not everyday someone cuts my throat.”

Snape backed away from him. Harry almost would have enjoyed the situation if not for Snape’s horrified expression. The man looked utterly remorseful and almost scared of what he had done.

Harry stepped up to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm, hoping it would calm him. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Snape let out a deep breath once he realized Harry was not at all angry with him.

“Why would you, when a maniac with uncontrolled magic duels you,” Snape scoffed at him. “I should have never asked your help and risk your life.” He looked undecisive for a moment, but then pressed out through gritted teeth, “I am terribly sorry.”

“I’m glad you asked for my help.” Harry said and gave a light squeeze to Snape’s arm, but the man shied away from the touch.

“We won't need to fight ever again.” Snape said convinced.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked. He felt a sudden bitterness in a small part of his heart. Could it be that this helped Snape take control? It went against all logic that he would be sad about that. Even if their duels ended, the Animagic lessons would still be there. “You can control it now?” He asked forcing hopefulness in his tone.

“I cannot do this any longer, Potter.” Snape grunted. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“I told you it was my fault.”

A quick step and Snape was leaning in his face. Harry didn’t have time to back away, and the sudden move made his heartbeat quicken.

“ _I_ cut your throat!” Snape bellowed inches from Harry. “ _I_ did that!”

“You healed me.” Harry said quietly.

“Your blood was all over my hands, no matter if I healed you or not, I cannot wash that off.” The man was shaking. His fingers trembled and he fisted them, but it did not help.

Harry noticed that the back of his hands was covered with small scabs as if he were repeatedly cut and bruised, and for a moment he wondered what Snape had been up to. The little marks were not as fresh, a couple days old perhaps, still looking raw.  It seemed as is the man had gotten into a fight-

Or, Harry realized shocked, as if he had tried to scour the invisible blood off his skin, scrubbing at it hard until... _Dear god_.

Harry grabbed the hands lifted them up, his thumb brushing over the raw marks carefully. Snape tore his hands from Harry’s gentle hold, looking livid now more than anything.

“Professor, I made a mistake and you paid the price for it. Let me help you.” Harry tried soothingly, reaching for Snape again.

Snape shook his head and stepped away. “It’s like talking to an imbecile,” he murmured under his breath. He drove five fingers through his hair, then faced Harry again. “You're insane if after all that I still do not make you scared to death.”

“I’m sorry to say,” Harry said, risking a smile, “but I don’t find you that scary anymore.”

“You _are_ insane,” Snape hissed. “Why? Why would you still want to help me?”

He didn’t want to admit why, especially not to Snape. He felt grateful to the man for all the deeds he had done for Harry, for all the time he had saved Harry’s life, but this was about a lot more now.

“How do you have so much faith in me?” It was meant only as a thought. It was quiet and uncertain.

“I cannot explain it,” said Harry. He would have to admit to feelings he wasn’t ready to even consider. “Call it gut feeling, or blind trust.”

Dark eyes observed him. There was a glint in them, like fire in the night. Harry, like a lost moth, felt a pull towards it. His hands itched to reach out.

“Let me take care of that…” He whispered, only a flash of his eyes down to Snape’s hand signalling what he had meant.

“There’s nothing to be taken care of.” Snape said coldly.

“If I’m injured because of you, you heal me. If you’re injured because of me, I heal you. That’s how we do it, Snape.” Harry hissed with a dark voice.

He went to one of the shelves and took off a little bowl of Healing Salve Hermione decided to always keep around, given their weekly practices often resulted in bruises. Harry uncorked the container and moved back in front of Snape. He held his hand out expectantly.

Snape’s hand twitched, but in the last moment the man decided to keep it at his side. Harry gave him an annoyed look, which then slowly turned into a staring contest. Black eyes bore into him and for some reason Harry could feel this was a very important moment, though he didn’t understand why.

He won in the end, and with a huff, Snape relented and lifted his hand slightly.

Harry scooped out a little cream with his pointing and middle finger then released the bowl, letting it hover around close by.

He tried to not look Snape in the eyes as he took his hand in his, knowing how intimate this felt, how wildly his heart beat. It wasn’t supposed to be more than just spreading balm on sore, tender cuts, yet Harry put so much feeling in every stroke of his fingers. He wanted Snape to know, _to feel_ , he wasn’t blaming him. More than anything, he wanted Snape to understand that the incident didn’t mean he had lost Harry’s faith, trust.

Harry held Snape with both his hands, gently rubbing the healing salve into the inflamed skin with his thumbs. Soft circling motion, as much to massage the tender flesh as to calm and soothe the man himself.

“Your blood was everywhere…” Snape whispered almost inaudible, terrified. “ _Your blood_...” He choked on his own words, unable to say more, then grasped Harry’s fingers so strong the force all but stopped the circulation in Harry’s digits right away. Snape’s knuckles went white with the sheer power of his grip, but Harry swallowed his own painful hiss. He suspected his discomfort was nothing compared to what Snape felt.

Harry wanted to look up, look into those black eyes, but he didn’t dare. He was too scared, but not of Snape, not of those endless obsidian orbs, but of what he would find in himself would he let himself look too deep again.

Snape’s grip slowly eased as Harry continued to stroke the back of his hand. His skin had absorbed all the cream a while ago, his injuries disappeared, his sore, red flesh regained its usual white colour and finally Harry let him go and took the other hand.

If anything, this looked even worse. His right hand, _his wand hand_ , the one that sent the _Cutting Spell_. How long had Snape rubbed his skin even after there was no blood on it whatsoever, once the water had washed it all away? How long had he kept up the cruel scrubbing, desperate to make it all disappear? How long did it take for this skin to break and for the blood on his hands to be _his_ not Harry’s?

Harry felt an awful tightening in his chest, and he didn’t know what to do, how to make it better. The air from his lungs came out shaking, he felt his insides shuddering. He wanted to correct this, change the past, make himself pay more attention to Snape and the duel. He wanted _not_ to put Snape through this at all. God how much he wanted to spare the man from this pain.

Snape’s right hand was healed, too and Harry had no reason to hold it anymore, yet he did not let go. Instead, he took the other as well, pretending to examine them, to check if all the wounds were truly cured. Snape’ hands rested on his palms for long seconds and none of them felt the need to pull away.

Instead, Harry leaned over their hands, let his lips brush against Snape’s now unmarked skin as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t pay attention. I’m sorry you had to live through this because of me.”

“You fool…” Snape hissed, but there was no anger or even rigidness in his tone. He sounded shaky, breathless.

Slowly, Harry raised his gaze, just to find himself captive once again. Black eyes held him, and he couldn’t move. He wasn’t just drawn, he was suffocating in the fire he saw there. There was so much pain in Snape’s eyes, aching, but something else too, something darker, something wild.

The hands on his palms moved, shifted slightly up, fingertips brushed against his wrist. Harry didn’t shake off the touch. He didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t resist it. He didn’t find it unwanted which alone should have scared him. But he wasn’t scared anymore. He was excited.

His fingers brushed against the Dark Mark. It felt like a scar under his fingertips, ridged at the edge, smooth in the middle, as if it had been burnt into Snape’s skin. He followed the snake, his middle finger slithering from its head right up to the skull.

Endless black eyes were scorching him, setting every inch of his body on fire. Harry swallowed hard, his fingers tightened on Snape’s arm and he pulled the man closer, gently, hesitant. He didn’t know what he wanted, what his aim with it was. He just wanted Snape a little closer.

It was a mistake. The motion seemed to have shattered the still moment and Snape blinked. “Thank you, Mr. Potter,” he said in a rough voice and he let Harry go, stepping back.

Harry almost didn’t let him go, he almost moved after him, but then, thankfully, his senses returned and he stayed where he was, awkwardly scratching his neck, unsure what to do next.

“I meant to give this you,” Snape said suddenly, then conjured a book and pulled it out of thin air, as if taking it off an invisible shelf.

Harry, grateful for the distraction, took the tattered, black volume in his hand. It was so ancient, he couldn’t make out the faded title. He paged into it, carefully turning the first couple of sheets as they were so fragile, he was afraid he would tear them. “What is this?” He asked confused. Why would Snape want to give him a book?

“It’s a spell book,” Snape said. “From my own collection. It is… rather unorthodox, one might say.”

“Oh,” Harry smiled up at Snape, realizing what he had meant. “Dark magic?”

“There is no such thing as dark magic, only dark wizards who use spells for the wrong cause. A bonding spell could unite people in love, or it can bind you to eternal slavery. It’s not the spell but the intent that matters.” He said, then added, “But yes, essentially it’s full of spells and theories one might consider dark. You might find it useful though, if we continue our… endeavours.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, gently stroking the book. Though, he did not fully comprehend Snape’s sudden change of heart, he was glad the man decided to let him help.

“I meant to give it to you, before all this happened. I took the liberty and wrote a couple notes in it, you might find helpful.” Snape’s voice was strange, somewhat hoarse, emotional even.

Harry opened the book again and looked in it, this time a bit more thoroughly. On the bottom of the pages, between lines, on the margin scrawled black letters gave him tips, instructions and advices. They weren’t just general, they were meant just for Harry. He read one, that said, “ _Read this carefully, Potter; this is the reason your air-based spells are not as adequate.”_ It was like personal messages from the Half-Blood Prince.

Harry looked up at Snape to thank him, but the gaze that watched him surprised him. The previous fire and wildness were long gone. It was cold and empty.

“There is a recipe for a potion in there. Simple enough to make, only takes seventy-two hours to finish, the ingredients are hard to come by though, unless you know where to look for them.” As he talked, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little vial. “There are some wizards who, for one reason or another, choose to leave behind our world. Not using magic, repressing it, can lead to catastrophe. The potion is for them.”

Harry had a bad feeling about this.

“If you knew there was a potion that helps you control your magic, why didn’t you use it before?” Harry asked slowly.

“It is not to control my magic,” Snape said softly as he gently placed the glass vial onto the book. “It is to take all of it away.”

Harry stared at the green potion sloshing inside the glass.

“I would not be able to hurt you or anyone anymore,” said the professor quietly.

“You wouldn’t be able to do magic.” Harry nearly whispered, horrified.

“Some things are worth sacrificing, even if it is hard to let go. You gave your life to save all of us. This would only take my magic.”

Harry watched him, tried figuring out the unreadable face, see a hint of this being nothing more than a bad joke. But Snape seemed dead serious.

“I cannot bare the thought of hurting you again.” Snape pulled out his wand and made a circle over the book and the vial of potion. Both items rose in the air and hovered between them. “I am tired of living in fear. I cannot even find solace in my dreams and now reality became even worse. You have faith in me, faith I have none left anymore.”

“Snape…”

“It is your life on the line, not mine. Choose whichever you might think is the best. I will not begrudge your decision.”

Harry watched Snape, then the two items. He understood it was cruel to ask Snape to keep fighting. He couldn’t imagine what it might feel like to face one’s fear repeatedly, knowing what a mistake on either side could cause. Harry might have been the one who made the almost fatal error last time, but it was Snape who had to endure the consequences. He never wanted Snape to have to live with the knowledge that he had killed another soul, just because Harry insisted he could win.

It was such a painful decision to make, and his selfish choice would be obvious. But he had to consider Snape too; his pain, his fear, his life. The man had been through so much asking more seemed almost wrong. What if the next time Snape did kill him? He would kneel over Harry’s body as he did over the boggart – broken, transfixed, a man whose fear had conquered him. How long would he scrub himself then, wanting to wash off his own acts, erase them, wishing it never happened?

In the end, what he really had to decide here was to be selfish or think of what would be best for Snape. One road meant more fights and ended perhaps with death. The other lead to serenity, but at what price?

“Make a choice, Potter,” said Snape with the hoarse voice of a doomed man.

With shaking hand, Harry took the vial from the air.


	13. The Other Alternatives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I know you hate (but hopefully still love a little at least) the slow burn. I know all you want for them to kiss (and more) but I must ask for patience. It will happen, we're not far, but Harry has to go through these stages. The whole point of this fic is him figuring out what he wants from life, and yes, it could happen from one chapter to the next, but then we wouldnt have 38 chapters to read. It will be worth your wait, I promise ;)  
>  And once again, thank you all so much for the wonderful comments. I love reading your thoughts on the chapter so please keep them up!_

## XIII: The Other Alternatives

 

The little vial felt almost warm in his hand, comforting, like a cup of tea.

“Be it as you wish,” Snape said holding out his palm.

“You know,” Harry said not handing it over to Snape yet, “when I was younger, you always bullied me. Back then, little did you know it did not have the effect on me you wished for. You always pushed me to do better. My hatred for you drove me to be better in Potions, Occlumency, or even Nonverbal spells. Your relentless teasing and piercing remarks always pushed me to improve myself and now, I became decent at Potions even without your book, I teach others not just Nonverbal spells but everything else we learn. I’m practising Animagic and harder spells than I’ve ever dealt with because of you.”

Harry looked at the extended hand, then at Snape’s empty black eyes. Instead of giving it to him, Harry hurled the vial against the wall where it shuttered to million pieces.

“You _fucking_ moron!” He shouted at Snape, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him down so they would be face to face. “Don’t think I wouldn’t do the same to have you manage yourself! Don’t think I wouldn’t scream at you, kick you if I had to, just so you learned to control your fucking magic!”

“Language, Potter,” Snape snarled. He finally had the spark back in his eyes, which could turn Harry’s world upside down.

“I don’t give a fuck about language, Snape,” Harry growled. “If you think for one second, that I’m willing to give up on you, you’re a bloody idiot.”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that!” Snape grimaced, grasping Harry’s wrist.

“I get to talk to you however I want as long as you act like an idiot! If you pull something like that on me again, I will kick your arse, Snape, maybe that will knock some sense into you!”

He tossed Snape away, but then broken glass crunched under his feet as he stepped up to the man again. He pushed a finger against Snape’s chest. “And if I get injured again, so what? I’m a big boy. It’s not like you didn’t get a few scars along the way.”

Snape swept Harry’s hand away, “You better go now. You’re in no condition to fight me yet.”

The blue shimmer was all around him again, but this time they would not be fighting to calm Snape down. Harry took some deep breathes. “There might be another way… it could work,” he told Snape.

When the man just raised an eyebrow, Harry continued.

“Ron once said,” he started with some hesitance, “that touching… someone helps him to control his emotions.” It might not be wise to mention he usually touched his girlfriend, not just anyone, but none the less, this option still wasn’t as lunatic as loosing someone’s magic. “It’s like an anchor, that helps you focus somewhere else.”

“Your friend is an idiot,” Snape huffed.

Harry smiled and shrugged. “That might be true. But it works for him, it might work for you. It does not have to be a grand gesture,” Harry said lifting his hand. “Just…. Snape, just hold my hand for a while, will you.” He sighed in the end, exasperated.

The professor raised an eyebrow then his mouth pulled up into a tight-lipped mocking smile.

“Do you want to braid my hair also, or is that going to be during the next time?” He scorned.

“If it stops your magic to pulse at me like that, I’ll do it,” Harry laughed. “Besides, it seemed to work the last time, when you…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence. It was just too embarrassing.

“When I what?” Snape asked back slowly in a low, taunting voice.

Piercing dark orbs held his gaze. If Harry was once worried about Snape’s empty eyes, he now regretted it. They were not empty now, there was a fire blazing deep down.

The fierce need to allow himself to be pulled in scared Harry more than Snape could ever do. He stepped away, almost ran from Snape’s captivating closeness.

“You know what, you can deal with this one on your own,” he grunted as he walked away, throwing his hands in the air. “Just forget it. You’re right, it’s a bad idea. Just send for me the ne-“

The next moment a gentle hand was on his shoulder. It made him stop and turn around.

“What’s the genius idea behind this? What do you expect to happen?”

“Oh now, he wants to listen,” Harry grumbled under his breath. “There’s no plan, Snape. The last time you held my hand, your magic calmed, and we did not need to finish the fight. I… felt something.” He said tentatively.

“You _felt_ something,” Snape repeated incredulous.

“Yes,” Harry said now a bit more convinced. “Every time I touch you, it is weird, it is kind of electric. But it quieted after a while. I want to try it again. I think that’s why you calmed. It was like your magic went through me.”

Snape took a couple seconds then slowly said, “Let me get this straight, Potter. You felt my magic _electrocute_ you, so now, instead of fighting, you want to face me defenceless when I am in absolute no control of what is happening, hoping that it might achieve the results you are foolishly hoping for.”

“Well,” Harry said hesitant. It was hard to convince Snape of something that wasn’t more than a gut feeling. 

“No, Potter. Absolutely, out of the question.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Harry said, desperately. “Just trust me this once, will you?”

“Oh yes,” Snape answered mockingly, “because you _felt something_.”

“Look someone once said, more often than not magic is a lot more than spells and wand-waving. What’s the worse that could happen?” Harry asked then once again held up his hand between them. “You’re going to cut my throat again?” He smiled teasingly.

Snape let out a dark laughter, but he seemed to consider Harry for a minute.

“I hope you know what you’re doing…” he said with a huff in the end, but then raised his hand, too. He held it inches from Harry’s, not touching him yet.

“I don’t,” Harry grinned.

He didn’t understand how something as simple as touching Snape’s hand could make him feel so many different things. Previously, barely twenty minutes ago, it was intimate, warm, now the air between them was almost as intense as during duels.

He moved his hand closer to Snape’ and once he reached the edge of the shimmering blue magic, turquoise electricity zapped him. His hand twitched but he didn’t pull away. Snape was shaking his head.

“You’re mad.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, then pressed his palm against Snape’s. The sensation was similar to electricity, but it didn’t hurt much. It was stimulating, like small bubbles of energy would be continuously bursting between their skins.

“Now what?” Snape asked his gaze snapping between Harry and their hands uncertainly.

“Close your eyes,” Harry said. Snape raised an eyebrow at him, but Harry just repeated himself. “I said, close your eyes.”

“Heard you perfectly well,” Snape grunted, and another jolt of electricity shook Harry’s fingertips.

Snape shut his eyes, and Harry let his head fall back slightly. It was easier to concentrate if he didn’t have to look into that obsidian gaze.

“Concentrate on my touch,” Harry said softly. “Breath in deep. Relax and let go.”

“It’s not working,” Snape grunted, his eyes opening right away.

“Because you’re not giving it a proper try, so shut up.” Harry wanted to kick him in the shins. “Close your eyes, come on.”

Only when Snape did so, did Harry keep talking. “You can feel it, too, can't you. The connection. I can feel you holding back. I can almost feel your magic, it’s like touching fresh, cold water with gloves.”

Harry entwined their fingers, then pulled Snape closer. He gave the hand a firm grasp, his thumb was gently caressing the man. “Take a deep breath and let go.”

_Oh fuck_. The first brush of magic almost made him moan. It was so powerful, so wild, like being tied to a dragon. It wasn't painful, but it was very intense. Like a kiss from the sun, burning every inch of his skin but at the same time cool, like spring water in the depth of a cave.

“Oh god,” Harry grunted, breathless.

“I don’t want to hurt you…” He could hear Snape’s murmured voice, but it was so quiet, Harry wondered if it wasn’t just a thought that he heard through some kind of Legilimency.

He didn’t have the bravery to say it wasn’t pain he felt, that it was as far from pain as it could be.

“Stop worrying about me,” Harry said, then his hand went to Snape’s nape. His fingers fisted in the long black hair and he pulled the man closer until Snape’s head was buried in the crook of Harry’s neck. “It’s all right,” he groaned through tightly pressed lips to prevent himself from saying more.

Snape’s fast breathing tickled his neck and it made Harry shudder. He was curious if Snape felt the same raw power as he did. Or was it something else? Why would he think he was causing Harry any pain, otherwise?

As suddenly as it started it was over. He held Snape for a couple more seconds, then the man pulled back.

Harry observed him from top the bottom, but there was no blue light. “You’re not glowing.”

Snape took a deep breath and returned the assessing glance. Harry only hoped his old jeans would hide anything Snape wasn’t supposed to see.

“And you’re not dead.” Snape said at last.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small satchel. “I actually called you here to give this to you. I got this for you the other day...” He threw it at Snape, who caught it with one hand.

Snape opened the mouth of the bag and emptied its content onto his palm. He watched it for a long minute, but didn’t say a word.

“It’s moonstone,” Harry said in the end, thinking maybe he should not have given it to the man after all. Maybe it was too much, too _personal_.

“I know,” Snape said softly. Their eyes connected. There was this fire there in the onyx eyes once again, that made Harry feel so uncomfortable in his skin. They burned him, much like Snape’s magic did.

“It’s said to be… good for control.” Harry said, cheeks heating under Snape’s relentless gaze.

“Thank you,” Snape all but whispered, as his long fingers slowly brushed through Harry’s hair. He moved a little closer to Harry, as his thumb gently caressed the younger man. He took a couple deep breathes as if to steady himself, then his fingers fisted around the necklace. “It seems to work,” he commented as he turned around to leave. 

“I’ll make this classroom available for you on Mondays and Thursdays and Weasley and Granger will have my permission, too, to ignore curfew on those days.” He said as he walked to the door, then he looked over his shoulder. “See you on Sunday for your next Animagic lesson, Potter.”

o.O.o

Lessons with Snape continued, and a couple more occasions later Harry could easily turn from human to owl and then back again. He didn’t find it that hard once he got the hang of it. Snape never had to help him, and only once did it happen that one of his limbs (an arm) remained in animal form, though it was easy to correct.

Assisting Wallace was a lot harder, however. Even knowing of the man’s dark past with the Death Eaters, Harry still could not accept the professor’s misplaced judgement of Snape. Sure, Snape wasn’t innocent, far from it, but Harry believed he had atoned for his sins.

Not that Wallace ever brought him up during lectures or on occasions when they met for some reviews of the lesson topics. They talked a lot though, mostly about the subject, new, advanced theories none of them truly understood yet and Harry often found himself enjoying the man’s company. They had a lot of common interests outside Defence, too. They would regularly have an almost heated argument about Quidditch or Wallace would explain him moves the teams in the States developed. They would be leaning over a parchment, stick figure players zooming across the paper as Wallace recalled games, he had seen years ago. A big, warm smile would spread across his lips and Harry would laugh with him.

Then something always happened. A mention of Amanda, or just a thought, Harry could not know about and Wallace’s expression would change. The warmth, the genuine friendliness would be gone from his eyes, and a dark shadow would settle on the chocolate brown orbs, and Harry knew he was thinking of Snape, of Death Eaters or of all the other horrors of the war he had witnessed.

He knew they could be friends, if only Wallace would either confide in him and tell him what had happened, maybe Harry could explain, or get Snape to tell everything. But of course, that never happened, and it was more and more painful to watch the kind eyes turn dull and lifeless.

Harry wished he could do something because Wallace was an amazing mentor and not even their completely different view on Snape could dissuade the professor from giving Harry every opportunity to teach his fellow classmates. The lessons became more and more demanding and Harry had less and less to offer, yet he did his best to study ahead and be ready to aid the others, and Wallace always made sure he was well prepared and he would not embarrass himself in front of the others.

Given he had so much to do, it was a very rare occasion that Harry found himself free on a Saturday afternoon. With all homework done, Ron and Hermione “retreated to the Library”, and Ginny was grinding the Gryffindor Quidditch team on yet another tiring practice, so Harry decided to visit Hagrid.

He arrived just in time. Hagrid was about to invade the Forbidden Forest for some potion ingredients for Slughorn and to visit a sick bowtruckle family, and Harry offered to go along.

It was a bright, sunny day, not that that mattered a lot in the heart of the forest were giant trees covered the sky from view. In the first half an hour, while they wandered in the woods, Harry told Hagrid everything about what he had learned from Wallace and even turned into an owl for him. In return Hagrid divulged him in the latest school gossips, informed him of Kingsley’s ever growing hatred of bureaucracy and even spilled the beans on how well things were going with Madame Maxime.

Later however, as they started plucking the herbs, they drifted slightly apart and it would have been too much of an inconvenience to start shouting, besides, Harry and Hagrid both preferred the Forest mostly oblivious of their presence. Instead of talking, they enjoyed the relaxed quietude of the woods.

They must have reached the lightly inhabited part of the forest, Harry found that the snow was mostly untouched still. Besides his footsteps and the mark of a couple centaurs, nothing could be seen in the fresh whiteness. The air was clean and crispy; January brought with it icy winds and freezing cold.

As he gathered dried rosehips from a bush, fingertips already numb from the cool weather, his mind wandered back to the castle.

He wasn’t sure what to do with the newly arisen situation with Snape. His own reaction to Snape’s magic was more than uncomfortable, but it was a lot more safer for both of them to choose this option over fighting. A little hand-holding had not caused much trouble for anyone, and Harry also didn’t want to put Snape through the whole cutting throats accident again.

Then again, he couldn’t just ignore the fact that there was a high chance that Snape’s magic wasn’t the only thing he was attracted to. He had never considered that option. _Gay_. The word was a forbidden one at the Dursley’s home, it was almost as bad as _wizard_ or _magic_.

Harry didn’t know exactly what he thought of it, truth be told, he had never had to deal with it. With having a crush on Cho and dating Ginny, it never really occurred to him to consider other options. He heard about these other options for the first time at the Weasley’s, when he would hear Charlie whisper to the twins about this person called Nathan and the things he did to Charlie, though he also heard stories about Charlie and Irina, whoever that might be. Most of these stories revolved around certain sexual acts, but at that time Harry was more interested in playing Quidditch in the back garden than Nathan’s bits.

Would he be interested in Snape’s bits? _Oh god_ , the thought made Harry’s head dizzy. He had to lean against a tree to collect himself. Surely not. Harry had a taste, he liked pretty girls. Cho was beautiful with her long black hair and dark eyes. And Ginny… Ginny was fierce and brave and she had the softest skin.

It was all too confusing, but even in the cold, his cheeks heated when he thought of the man for longer, a reaction Ginny did not manage to bring forth in him for a while now.

_It was just the magic,_ Harry told himself. It had to be, otherwise his perfect life with Ginny was over. She did not deserve this, she was worthy of a lot more than what Harry had been offering her. No wonder she was angry with him. She must have been so disappointed in him in the last months. Their promise of finding time for each other had been long forgotten.

The winds of the new year brought new resolves to Harry. He would fix all this. Make things right with Ginny and learn to ignore Snape’s magic. Maybe it would be better the next time. Maybe it was only that intense, because it was the first time. Maybe he could get used it.

He came back out of the forest with a cleared head and a new vision. He took a deep breath just as he was about to say goodbye to Hagrid when they both heard the loud voices nearby. They shared a worried glance, then headed towards the Hut, where the noises came from.

“I know who you are, and I won't rest until everyone sees it, too.”

Harry recognised the voice. It was Wallace. And he had a very good suspicion, too, with whom he was arguing.

“I was exonerated of my crimes, Wallace, do not forget that.” Came the reply from a deep voice Harry would know anywhere.

“Of the ones they know about, but I bet you have some more dark secrets you still have to answer for.”

“We fought in a war, who doesn’t have secrets, acts they wish not to remember?” Snape snarled. “But I have never seen you or your daughter.” 

“Or we are just among the many faces you wish so much to forget. I heard them talk about the things you’ve done, you’ve planned to do, Snape. You know what they say; you never stop being a Death Eater. You either serve out of loyalty or fear, or you die. There is no other option. You bowed to You Know Who like all of them.” Wallace’s tone was full of spite and despise. Harry had never heard him talk like that.

“You either bowed to him yourself, or he made sure you bend over from pain. But I have not served the Dark Lord since I was nineteen.”

“Maybe you’re not the devil, but you have the Mark, which means you’re not a saint either.” Wallace spat.

“I never said I was.” Snape admitted. “But I am not the man you want to see me as.”

“You are nothing more than a low life, vile, cruel Death Eater, a man of no courage. You may have fooled Shacklebolt but you won't fool me. You can hide behind him cowering for as long as you like, but I’ll come for you, Snape and I’ll make sure you feel my pain.”

Harry charged ahead like a bull and appeared behind Hagrid’s Hut with his wand pointed at Wallace. Hagrid tried to hold him back, but he jerked his arm free. He knew it was wrong, he could get expelled for threatening a teacher, but rage took his mind.

“How dare you say that?” He shouted and both Wallace and Snape’s head snapped at him.

“Potter, lower your wand, you fool. I’m used to his threats by now. They’re nothing more than that, empty promises of inconvenience,” Snape barked.

“Used to it?” Harry echoed then turned to Wallace. He did lower his wand, though his voice remained just as hostile.

“Leave the professor alone, and this is the last time I asked nicely,” Harry hissed as he stood between the two man. Wallace wasn’t threatening Snape with a spell, he didn’t even have his wand out, therefore Harry’s stance in front of Snape was more of a statement, but at least a very clear at that.

“I have no quarrel with you, Mr. Potter,” Wallace said softly. “I owe you respect, and I can only hope that one day you’ll see what a treacherous maggot this man is.”

“If you can respect me for defeating Tom Riddle, you owe him that respect too. He had saved my life many times and I never would have done this without his help.”

“One or two good deeds does not erase a life of crime.”

“He had served Riddle for less than two years and spent seventeen trying to defeat him. The Minister isn’t the only person protecting Severus Snape, I do, too, but you, Wallace, you stand alone on the grounds of Hogwarts.”

 “I don’t know what he has done to you, how he had fooled you too, but a Death Eater has no place at Hogwarts.”

“This is Professor Snape’s home. Out of the two of you, it’s you who has no place here.”

Wallace jerked back as if Harry had hit him. Even Harry felt a twinge in his own heart saying those harsh words to the man who had worked relentlessly to help him improve week after week. But he didn’t back down, he didn’t step away, if anything he only pulled himself up even more.

“I see where your loyalty stands, Mr. Potter,” Wallace said resigned. There was a flash of hurt in his chocolate brown eyes, but it didn’t change Harry’s resolve.

“Well, you see it correctly, Wallace.”

They watched each other then Hagrid tapped Wallace on the shoulder. “Come, Professor, I’ll walk you back to the school,” he murmured, giving the man a little shove to get him started. Clearly, he wanted to break up the fight before it escalated even more.

Harry watched them leave, shooting daggers at Wallace’s back.

“That was a mistake, Potter,” Snape said quietly. “He hates me, but he admires you. You vanquished what he swore to fight against. You two are not enemies.”

“How could I just let that happen?” Harry yelled, his anger shifting to Snape. “How can you? Why don’t you do something? Fire him?”

“Why should I act so selfishly. He is an _excellent_ teacher. He had never approached me when I was in company, he keeps his opinion to himself. He harms no one.”

“He just riles you up! He’s the reason you lose control!”

“I cannot and I will not blame him for my own shortcomings. He has nothing to do with my magic, or my lack of control over it.”

Harry glared at the ground, then kicked at the snow. The unfairness of it all infuriated him, but there was nothing he could say.

Snape placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, right at the base of his neck. Harry looked up.

“I learned a long time ago that the consequences of my actions will haunt me for as long as I live. I made my peace with that,” said Snape quietly. Harry felt a thumb brush gently against his neck as Snape added, “This was the second time you stood up for me without being asked to do so. I, as well, see now where your loyalty stands, and it is much appreciated.”

When a shiver ran down his spine, Harry had to remind himself of the promise he had just made to himself not ten minutes ago.

He shook his head and sighed, then he gripped Snape’s wrist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Just call for me, when you need me again.” He said then left to the castle.

o.O.o

Once he arrived back to the Common Room, Harry pulled off his coat and gloves and sat close to the fire to warm up a little bit. It would be time for dinner soon, which meant Ron and Hermione should be back in a few. Neville joined him, they talked for a little while, then he went away. Ginny and the rest of the team climbed through the portrait hole covered in snow, cheeks red.

Ginny came to him, kissed him on the top of the head, then shuddering, went to take a long hot bath. He watched her get further away, then Ron crashed on the couch; the rebound almost throwing Harry off.

“Had fun in the Library?” Harry grinned, but Ron just sighed deeply and shook his head.

“We just talked.”

Harry raised his eyebrow, but Ron looked at him dead serious. “We were. We do that a lot lately.”

They stared at the fire for a while, it seemed Ron was deep in thoughts then he all of a sudden leant closer to Harry and whispered, “Harry…. Have you ever… have you ever… done it… you know?”

Harry felt an immediate blush creeping up his cheeks. This was not really a conversation he wanted to have with Ron.

“Given who’s my girlfriend, I doubt you want to know the answer to that,” he grinned.

Ron seemed embarrassed for a moment. “I know she had… well… Dean let it slip one time.”

Oh, Harry did not know that. They had never talked about it with Ginny, and honestly, he had never been too interested in asking either. Shouldn’t he be jealous that Ginny had sex with Dean before? “We’ve never… there was no time.” He said in the end.

Ron just nodded, acknowledging the fact, then he stared back at the fire. They sat quietly until Harry realized what this must be about. “Have you?”

Ron looked up at him, his face turning suddenly red. “Yes.” He answered very quietly.

Harry wasn’t that surprised. It was a long time coming and they did spend half the summer in Australia just the two of them, unsupervised and all.  “And,” he prompted, unsure why Ron would want to talk about this, when he so clearly felt uncomfortable. “How was it?”

Even Ron’s ears were scarlet red at this point. “Good, I think.” He said then softly. “I uhm… made sure she… you know.”

Harry nodded, he _knew,_ regardless that he had never had sex with Ginny. They had not been just kissing and their meetings were mostly about him making sure Ginny got what she wanted. Except that one time, when… Harry shook his head – he couldn’t think of that right now.

“The twins gave me a book,” Ron said suddenly. “I can give it to you. It’s very… informative, in case… you know…”

Harry couldn’t help his lips pulling up into a grin. “In case I get lost?”

Ron laughed out finally breaking the awkward tension. “It’s not that simple, you know,” he grunted. “It took me a couple of times to… really get the hang of it. But it is true what they say… even if it’s bad… it’s still _good_.”

Harry couldn’t get the stupid grin off his face either now. “I know what a perfectionist Hermione is. Your performance is either outstanding or you can kiss her goodbye.”

“She hasn’t complained yet.” Ron giggled but then his face turned slowly serious. He played with the edge of his shirt as he added, softer than a whisper, “But… we haven’t done it since… Australia. We wanted to, you know… in the Christmas break, but Mom always interrupted.”

“There’s a lot on both of your minds, Ron. Why don’t you talk to her? You can maybe … I don’t know, set the mood one night. Let me know and I clear away from the dorms.”

Ron nodded, sighing deeply. “Maybe you should do that too with…” his voice faltered there for a moment and Harry felt like laughing again. It must be hard for Ron talking about Harry having sex with his little sister.

“Maybe I will,” he said. Maybe he should take his own advice. Tomorrow, the classroom on the seventh floor would be empty and if he told Hermione and Ron not to come near, he could be alone with Ginny. She didn’t have practice that afternoon. It could work and maybe it would help them get back what they had lost during the semester.

“The book is under my bed,” Ron said. “It has lots of pictures and texts describing what you can do. There are simple spells for, you know…” he had to take a deep breath, “…protection and stuff to…”

“Yes, I understand,” Harry said quickly because Ron seemed to hyperventilate in discomfort.

Ron nodded then all but jumped from the couch in a hurry to get away from the awkward situation but in the last moment he turned back. He closed his eyes, as if whatever he wanted to say would either be the most embarrassing thing so far or would simply be painful.

“Check the book, Harry,” Ron jabbered. “Especially the… the… bloody hell… Especially the end of it.” Then he literally ran upstairs.

Harry wondered what could possibly be this interesting about a book on sex but didn’t dare go even near the book until way past midnight. He made sure Ron and Neville were already asleep, by the time he got in bed. For a moment, he considered just taking his glasses off, closing his eyes and forcing himself to sleep, but he was certain it wouldn’t work. Ron had made him way too interested.

In the end, he let his curiosity take over and summoned the book from under Ron’s bed. It sailed to him silently in the air, then Harry made sure no one would wake up to him reading before he opened the thick volume.

It was an informative book, for sure. And very detailed, too. Harry had seen magazines, but this was nothing compared to that. It gave some solid tips as well as basic knowledge of what-where-when questions.

He stayed up as long as he could, but soon his eyes started closing on their own. Before he would fall asleep, he decided to check the last chapters as Ron suggested.

He paged to the end, then almost threw the book away when he saw the pictures.

They were all of men. Men having sex in different poses, detailed drawings of where to find a prostate and texts telling him why it was good to find it.

Wide eyed and with a thundering heartbeat, Harry stared towards Ron’s bed as if through the curtains, he could see as Ron stared back at him. Why would Ron want him to see these kinds of things? How could he possibly know? His mind raced on their previous conversations. Did he say something one time? Let something slip?

He levitated the book back under Ron’s bed, as if nothing happened. Then he watched his snoring friend for a moment in the dark. Why would Ron do something like this? Why would he encourage Harry about these kinds of topics? Did he suspect something? Was there even something to suspect?


	14. Shattered Perfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You've waited so patiently. So here it is._

## XIV: Shattered Perfection

 

The next day Harry woke with a fierce determination. Ron wasn’t in the room, and Harry was grateful for that, given he did not think he could face his friend at the moment. They didn’t even meet at breakfast, Harry only found Hermione sitting at the table, reading the Prophet.

“Hi, Harry,” she greeted him with a smile. Harry tried to see if something about her had changed, if perhaps she had suspected something as well, but he could not determine anything. Hermione was as she always were. Harry almost found that upsetting.

“Hi, ‘Mione,” he said and sat down. He dreaded the moment she would ask about the book, because he was certain Ron would not do something like this on his own, but the moment never came. She asked about homework and his extra obligations for Wallace, made sure Harry really did finish all his tasks, then downed her cup of tea and left.

Avoiding Ron was impossible, but thankfully later when they did meet in the Common Room, Ron never mentioned the book either. Maybe he thought Harry had never touched it, after all, come morning the book was back under the bed, seemingly undisturbed.

Harry’s plan was sailing smoothly even though he was becoming more and more jittery as Monday evening came closer. He told Ron and Hermione that they would not have practice that day, and asked Ginny to come to the seventh floor at six o’clock.

Harry bitterly acknowledged that Snape cancelled their Sunday evening Animagic lesson, as it would have given him some distraction at least. On the other hand, not seeing Snape helped him not to _think_ _of_ Snape and his magic either, so he felt in luck. He could focus on Ginny, as much as he had to.

During Monday, all through their shared lessons Harry often found himself glancing towards Ginny. At first, she seemed to find it annoying, not understanding what he wanted, but later the attention only made her blush. _This is right_ , Harry thought. He should have done this from the beginning. This was what she deserved.

Then in the afternoon, only an hour before he had to meet Ginny, what he feared the most, happened. A letter came from Snape asking Harry to come to his office instantly.

He only hoped this would not take long. He ran from the seventh-floor classroom all the way to the Headmaster’s Study then said the password he was told in the letter. He ran up the stairs and stepped into the office without knocking which might have been slightly rude, he realized afterwards.

“Kingsley!” He said surprised once his eyes landed on the tall man. He looked tired and worn, more so almost than during the war. “I mean, Minister Shacklebolt,” Harry corrected himself, quickly.

“Come now, Harry,” Kingsley laughed, his booming voice filling the study. Then he stepped up to Harry and gave him a hug that was firm enough to crack Harry’s ribs.

Harry nodded to Snape over the minister’s shoulder.

“What brings you here?” Harry asked once he was let go.

“This is why we asked you here, Harry. Sit please.”

Harry looked at the clock, but he still had plenty of time.

“In a hurry somewhere, Potter?” Snape asked.

Harry managed a grin as he said, “It’s Monday, Professor. You know how busy my Monday nights are.” Snape nodded, understanding Harry’s hint at his usual practice duels with Ron and Hermione.

Once they were all seated and Professor Snape poured them a glass of whiskey, Kingsley sighed then took a deep breath.

“It has been more than half a year and we still not have managed to find out anything, regarding your attack in May.”

Harry had to think for a moment to remember the black-haired woman. It had happened so long ago, he all but forgot what had started all this. The attack, Snape’s magic lashing out, his bleeding wounds, his motionless body – Harry shuddered at the thought.

“Robarts decided to close the case,” Kingsley said quietly.

“I am sure the Head Auror chose to do what was best after all his efforts were fruitless.” Snape reacted calmly.

“I don’t think it’s the right decision,” Kingsley said.

“You know perfectly well, that I do not share your thoughts regarding the attack. She was nothing more than a lunatic desperate to avenge the Dark Lord.”

“No one knew her, Severus. Not you, not Malfoy, no one. Someone this devoted should have been noticed.”

Snape shook his head. It seemed to Harry the two men had been over this conversation couple of times already.

“Shall we ask what Mr. Potter thinks?”

Harry answered honestly. “I haven’t thought of her since the summer. And no one tried to kill me since then.” When Snape raised an eyebrow, Harry glanced at him and added, “Well not on purpose.”

Kingsley laughed out then looked at Snape. “You’ve got a loyal friend here, Severus.” He grinned.

Snape watched Harry for a long moment, then said softly, “It appears, I do.”

The confirmation warmed Harry’s heart.

“I leave Robarts be, if that’s what both of you want. He’ll close the case and you won't have to think about this ever again.” Kingsley said. “But _please_ keep an eye on each other. Losing either of you would be a mountain of paperwork that I do not have time for.”

He stood then and downed his drink. “Can’t wait to see you in the Auror program, Harry,” he said as he hugged Harry goodbye. Snape came around his table and they shook hands.

“Hope sends her regards,” Kingsley smiled warmly. “She would also like to kindly remind you that her birthday is next month, and she still needs the third instalment of the _Old European Potions and Concoctions_ series.”

The comment made Snape smile, a rare treat Harry had not seen many times. It wrought a spark of jealousy from the pit of Harry’s stomach that had no right to be there.

“Does she now? Well you can tell her that once I receive her six feet essay on Shielding Charms, I _might_ consider getting her something.”

Kingsley laughed at that. “Severus, old friend, you only dare say that because I am the one delivering the message.”

“You indulge her too much,” Snape noted with a soft voice.

“You can't blame me,” Kingsley grinned then with one final wave at Harry, he left the office.

Harry was ready to follow him, but Snape placed a hand on his shoulder. “Stay for a moment, will you?”

Slowly, Harry turned around.

Snape leaned against the desk, legs crossed at his ankles and arms across his chest. He didn’t say a word though for almost a minute, so in the end Harry asked the question that ate away at his curiosity.

“Who’s Hope?”

To his surprise, Snape actually answered him. “Kingsley’s niece. Her parents died in the war and he has been taking care of her. She is young, but too fragile to attend school, so she’s home schooled. I visit them sometimes.”

That surprised Harry.

“I never thought Kinsley and you were so close, Professor.” Harry said suddenly recalling all the times Kingsley had showed up at the castle during the summer, when Snape was unconscious. Back then, Harry had thought it was because Kingsley was worried about the elections and he was meeting with McGonagall, but apparently, he had a more personal reason for his visits.

Why did that thought make Harry feel so wretched?

Snape seemed thoughtful for a moment, before he answered. “A sure friend is known in unsure times, I believe is the saying. He helped me once and asked no questioned which back then was imperative. The events of that night had very much changed _his_ life for the better however, and he believes he still owes me for it. He is wrong of course but having the Minister for Magic as a friend sure brings some benefits.”

“I see.” Harry forced a smile, not liking whatsoever the warmth in Snape’s eyes suddenly.

“But that is not why I asked you to stay behind. We’ll need to talk about what happened the last time we have met for our… _training_.”

Harry was confused for a moment, given the last time he had trained, practically nothing happened, Harry had just been turning from owl to human and back for almost an hour. Then Snape scratched his chin with his hand and suddenly Harry realized, they were not talking about the Animagic lessons.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I prefer we fight.” Snape stated. “I can heal you if I hurt you with a spell, but there’s nothing I can do if I do not understand what is happening.”

“But you’re not hurting me with your magic,” Harry said.

“Don’t lie to me, I watched you suffer in agony.”

“Oh,” Harry stuttered. “I-It wasn’t that bad. It _really_ wasn’t.”

“I do not believe you, Potter. I could feel you trembling.”

Harry let out a shaky laugh but did not dare tell the truth. “Look, I say let’s give this another shot, maybe it will be different the second time. I know how much you don’t want to hurt me, Professor, so I will promise to tell you when I cannot handle it any more. Acceptable?” Harry asked, raising his glass for a toast.

“Acceptable,” Snape said after considering it for a while.

Harry knocked back the rest of his drink and was about to say goodbye, when a whole bottle of whiskey appeared, floating a couple inches from the mouth of his glass.

Snape looked him over, then asked in a hoarse voice, “Would you like some more?”

He still had some time till he had to meet Ginny, besides it wasn’t always (it was technically never) that Snape initiated any time spent together outside lessons and duels.

Harry sat back in his seat and said with a small smile, “It looks like you can use a drink, sir.”

“Lose the titles, Potter,” Snape said then took off his cloak, which floated over to Snape’s chair and draped itself over the back. “I am not drinking with a student now.”

Harry’s pulse quickened, but he decided to risk the question. “And what am I to call you then? Just Snape? Or Severus?”

“You believe we have reached a point in our thorny relationship that would allow us such intimacy?”

Many things came to mind that moment, their first handshake, hand on his thigh, fingertip against his lips, arms across his chest, lean body holding him from behind, and of course the Kiss of Death. Harry smiled and said firmly, “Yes.”

Snape watched him, intense black eyes bore into Harry’s soul. Then he shrugged and sat on his desk in a casual way. “I did cut your throat. I assume that does bring forth some sort of comradery that would allow us to be this familiar with each other.”

Harry could barely repress his giddy grin. “That and hand holding,” He murmured under his breath before he took a sip from his whiskey.

Snape ignored the comment and sighed, looking out the window.

“What troubles you, Severus?” Harry asked calmly, though he could still feel butterflies flapping around in his belly. Why on earth did saying Snape’s first name make him this happy?

“Not your concern, Po- _Harry_ ,” Snape finished, catching himself in the last minute.

“You listened to my girl problems, I can do the same for you.” Harry offered, thinking of Hope. Snape seemed to have cared for the girl. Maybe it was… different from what he originally thought. Young to a man Snape’s age could mean a lot of things. 

Snape all but laughed out. “Oh, Potter, I _do not_ have _girl_ problems.”

Harry’s eyes unavoidably stared at Snape’s body now only covered with sleek black pants and a thin white shirt. The man wasn’t handsome, but there was something alluring in him.  _I bet you don’t_ was almost out of Harry mouth by the time he realized what he was thinking and managed to stop the process.

“I’m willing to listen to boy problems, too,” Harry said with a teasing grin, recalling the friendly banter between Kingsley and Snape. Why on Merlin’s beard that caused a bitter twinge in him, he did not dare think about, and suddenly Snape was glaring at him with such a frightening expression, Harry felt he hastily needed to add, “Or to any other kind of problems.”

Snape huffed, then took another sip. “Last year, I was walking on a thin rope with Death on my side. I was certain I would not outlive Voldemort. I had only obstacles everywhere; the Carrows in my school, the other professors distrusting me, Bellatrix Lestrange’s suspicion, you on the run while Death Eaters hunted you like a priced stag, and of course the Dark Lord.” Snape sighed. “Compared to all that I have an easy life now, yet I feel a bigger weight on me than before.”

“How so?”

“After the war, I thought I will be finally in control of my life, yet now I feel less in control than ever. My magic went wild, and my mind wants to follow it. Day after day I am weaker and less able to handle this repressed power and I am afraid what will happen once it is freed.”

“Maybe you should let it go,” Harry said quietly, he stood up and stepped in front of Snape. “Let it have what it wants, Severus.”

“You do not understand what that would mean.”

Harry looked into the endless black eyes. He drank the rest of his whiskey to gather some courage, then slowly raised his hand. He might not know what exactly that would mean, but he sure as hell wanted to find out.

Snape’s hand moved, too, lifted into the air then hovered inches from Harry’s.

_Touch me_ , Harry begged silently, he might even have mouthed the words. He desperately clung to that small part of his brain that only meant their hands. 

There was no Healing Salve this time, no wound, no magic but Harry could feel the electricity as Snape’s fingertips touched his wrist and slithered slowly up. They softly skimmed over the middle of his palm then shifted up on his fingers. Why was this so good? Just a touch of a hand, just an innocent act, yet it was so much more.

Scorching black eyes watched his reaction, but Harry only moved to retrace Snape’s motions. His fingers drifted down from fingertips to soft palm, barely touching only gently stroking as if the end of his fingers would be just feathers.

The clock chimed six and they pulled away immediately. Harry suddenly remembered his promise to Ginny and himself too and started backing away from Snape.

“Leave,” Snape said his tone a strange mix of an order and a plea.

Harry did so, without any further ado.

o.O.o

Despite being five minutes late, the evening went as Harry had planned. Ginny was astonished to see the soft blanket and the pillows on the floor, the many candles stuck to the ground and floating in the air in a half circle, the crackling fire, the food and the champagne.

“For me?” She asked smiling happily and Harry nudged her gently inside.

They sat down and had dinner, ate sandwiches and fruits, drank the champagne with it, they talked and talked and it was perfect. Only, Harry’s palm would itch from time to time, but he convinced himself it would go away, once he could touch Ginny.

They had all night and they wanted to take things slow. They kissed leisurely, and their hands shifted on the other’s body relaxed. Harry undressed her one item at a time, but barely looked at her slim body. He closed his eyes and kissed her skin and kissed her in places his mouth had never been. She was warm and soft and sweet, but Harry’s itching hand didn’t settle from her skin.

He was only semi-hard when her hands went around his cock and Harry let his head fall back onto the pillows. He tried to watch her, see as his own cock disappeared in her mouth but all he felt instead of electric pleasure was boredom.

Something was wrong, and Harry closed his eyes, brows furrowed he concentrated hard. This needed to work. This night with her needed to bring back what they had lost, otherwise Harry would face a big problem.

His tingling hand all but moved on its own. Instead of grabbing her, Harry touched himself. Fingers, softly like feathers, slid on his chest, circled around his nipple. He tweaked it, imagining a mouth there, thin lips tasting of mint, crooked teeth biting his flesh.

His hips bucked up into the heat, he was breathing heavily. Soft hair tickled the inner side of his thigh, black not ginger in his mind’s eyes. His own hand moved, but long fingers traced his ribs and slid further down on his abdomen. They slipped through wiry hair and went around his cock.

Moaning, Harry grabbed into the pillow under his head. His hips thrust up into wet heat, he all but came suddenly. Not just because of the touch, but he could smell a fresh rainy scent that drove him near the edge. The scent of the air he inhaled had changed, it was suddenly filled with electricity. He did not open his eyes, but he could feel, see almost, the slight zapping of the blue magic all over his body. Like a blanket it settled around him. It was strong enough that he could almost feel the press of another figure over him.

As he came, his back arched away from the ground, needing to be closer to the body above him. He bit into his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed, before he would cry out the wrong name. She lifted her head and Harry came onto her palm, not that his mind registered much of that.

As his orgasm numbed his senses, Harry’s eyes opened, and a horrifying suspicion made him turn towards the door.

The door that he had closed was now open. He could barely see, but even with hazy eyes, he could still take out as black robes swirled in the darkness outside, then disappeared.

His whole body shuddered as he imagined what Snape had just witnessed, then he realized that his fantasies were not just that. That press of the magic was real, the electric sensation was real.

Still breathing heavily, he sat up. His mind was confused enough not to stop him. He did not dare look at Ginny as he pulled on his jeans and grabbed his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled in a continuous string. “I am so sorry, Ginny.”

She didn’t say anything, just sat on the pillows, covering her body with the blanket. Harry looked into the blue eyes for a moment. He knew if he left now, it was all over. Ginny wasn’t aware what had happened, could not feel Snape’s pulsing magic, but Harry did. It was almost like a call now. Ginny would never forgive him this.

 “I have to go,” he whispered and went to door. He knew it was over when she never tried to stop him.

He was barefoot, and the stone of the corridor was freezing, but Harry didn’t stop. He pulled his shirt over his head as he ran, not knowing where he was headed, but certain he was going the right way.

Snape couldn’t be far away, it happened only a couple minutes ago, and Harry’s legs were still shaking slightly. Harry refused to think of the images in his mind, yet they appeared uninvited. Harry shook his head and closed his eyes. _His magic_ , he kept repeating in his head, _it’s just his magic_.

Even before he rounded the next corner, he could hear crying, high-pitched and scared. He wanted to pull his wand, but it wasn’t on him. He had left it on the floor of the classroom. There was darkness in the corridor, but Snape’s pulsing magic gave enough light to see everything.

Snape was cowering against a wall, and across him on the other side, a little girl was kneeling in a corner.

“You’re scaring me, Professor” the girl cried. She was really tiny, a first year, Harry thought and when he moved closer, he even remembered her from during the Sorting.

“Annabelle,” he called out gently to her.

Surprised, Snape jerked, and the bubble of electricity lashed out. Violent and wild, it cut into Harry, but luckily avoided the girl.

“Please stop it, you’re scaring me!” Annabelle shrieked shaking with fear and tears.

“That’s your name, right? Annabelle Warren. You’re in Slytherin.” Harry tried again, but she only cried, sobbing frightened as he stared at the pulsing electricity around Snape. “Look at me, Annabelle.”

“Potter, get her out of here!” Snape said in a low voice. He didn’t dare move an inch afraid his magic would lash out again.

“Annabelle, you need to listen to me,” Harry carefully edged closer to her.

“I sleep walk,” she said between loud sobs. “And I got lost.”

“It’s all right, Annabelle, no one is going to take points from you.”

“What’s wrong with the professor?” She asked quietly, looking up at Snape.

“He is a bit sick,” Harry said, “But he won’t hurt you, I promise you. Now, please come here.”

Snape closed his eyes, trying to calm himself but to no avail. His magic already formed a bubble around him and Harry remembered how hard it was to break through it.

He thought it couldn’t get worse, but then he heard footstep from behind.

“Come here, Annabelle, come!” He cried, and Annabelle ran to him just the right time.

“Harry!” Ginny said as she rounded the corner and Snape’s eyes opened at the voice.

His magic burst out, and Harry covered Annabelle with his own body. Ginny was far enough to be safe, but Harry got the worst of the wild power. Like a whip, it cracked across his back, leaving behind a long, bleeding wound. He grunted but pushed Annabelle towards Ginny, while Snape regained control for a moment.

Snape’s magic felt off, different than what it was like during their duels, or even just minutes before. Until now, Harry felt the magic practically welcome him, now however, it was hurting and intent on causing pain.

“Take her back to Slytherin!” He told Ginny, but she did not move. She was just staring at Snape, skin paler than ever in fright now. “Ginny, listen to me! You need to take her! Go!”

Annabelle grabbed her hand and started pulling her away, pleading. Ginny finally moved and took a hesitant step towards safety, then she looked back, holding out a hand.

“Come with us, Harry,” she asked one last time.

“Go, Potter,” Snape grunted. His hands were fisted almost as if his magic was now hurting him as he tried to hold it back.

Harry shook his head. “He needs me, Ginny.”

“I don’t want you here,” Snape growled at him.

Harry looked at him, but just smiled. “Bad luck.”

He waited until he could hear Ginny’ and Annabelle’s hasty steps from around the corner, then moved hesitantly towards Snape.

“Wand, Potter,” Snape warned him.

“I don’t have it, Professor.” Harry shrugged holding his hands out as if surrendering.

“You idiot,” Snape huffed. “Don’t come any closer.”

Harry didn’t stop moving, inch by inch he got closer to Snape. “We’ll have to deal with this the other way.”

“No,” Snape pleaded. “I don’t know what… I am not in control right now, Potter. This is worse than ever…”

“That’s why I’m here,” Harry said quietly, calmly.

“You heard that girl, you should be afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” Harry told him. He was only a couple feet away.

The wounds on his back and arm burned like hell, but he was strangely calm. He knew Snape’s magic was only hurting him, because this time he was the reason for this anger. He also knew it would abate if they could just touch each other finally.

Snape shuddered, his eyes closed, and his head fell back. Harry rushed in front of him and stood as close as the boiling electricity let him. He raised his hands slowly and reached towards Snape.

He wasn’t scared, but apprehension built up in him, as his hand inched closer and closer to the blue sphere around Snape. He would be touching pure magic he understood, like reaching in the heart of a spell.

He hesitated for only a second at the edge. Little electric discharges vibrated against the tips of his fingers. Then he pushed his hands through the force.

It was like shoving his hands through entangled, sharp barbwires. He was covered in smaller cuts in a second.

“Take my hand, Snape,” Harry said quietly, and scared black eyes snapped open and looked at him.

“Harry, please,” Snape begged. “I cannot stand the idea of hurting you again. You are already bleeding.”

“Then take my hand and heal me,” Harry told him.

Snape looked him in the eyes, the black gaze wordlessly begging Harry to turn around and run, but of course, Harry stayed where he was. He stepped closer, grunting as the blue magic tensed against his whole body, but then Snape finally grasped his hands.

Their fingers entwined, and Harry whispered, “Let it go, Severus.”

It was like a kick on his insides, like electric shock running through his whole body. He fell forwards, all but crushed against Snape’s chest. He pressed their hands against the wall, his whole body was shuddering and tensing. He could feel Snape’s magic rush through him, stretching his veins, making his heart stop for a moment then make it beat like drums of war.

He was leaning against Snape, his legs barely able to hold him up. He buried his head against the crook of the man’s neck not to cry out, but it was an insanely bad idea. Soft, black hair caressed his cheeks, this time for real, and he smelled the fresh scent of rain again. He was faintly aware that Snape would smell sweat and sex on him, but it made him only excited. The only reason he wasn’t hard was that he just had an orgasm. That didn’t stop him not to want to push forward, not to want to feel every inch of the body in front of him.

He lifted their hands over Snape’s head as if pinning him to the wall. He could hear Snape’s low grunt of pain close to his ear, feel the hot breath tickle the sensitive cartilage. Dry lips scraped his cheeks and Harry could feel himself turn towards the touch. Even though the intense sensation cruising though his veins forced his eyes shut, Harry knew exactly when they became face to face, only inches apart, before Snape would press his forehead against Harry’s.

“I’m so sorry…” Snape breathed out desperate and scared.

“Whatever for?” Harry replied shakily, his lips accidentally tracing something parched but soft, something he wanted to take between his lips and kiss until it was swollen, bite until it was raw. “You’re healing me,” he grunted out.

He couldn’t see, the sensation blinded him, but he was certain that was what was happening. He could feel the bleeding wound on his back stopped burning, its sides of the long cut pulling back together as the magic, like a gentle caress swept across it. Not just on his back, but everywhere, his injuries mended and disappeared.

He could feel Snape’s magic slowly dissipate but Harry didn’t feel sated. The serenity he had hoped for was far behind his reach. All this power seemed so sensual, he felt just like after his orgasm, but it did not concentrate in his loins only, but spread out everywhere. There was a burning inside him and he wanted to press closer to Snape, knowing he was the only one who could satiate his thirst.

The moment they let go of each other, Snape’s legs buckled, and Harry slid to the floor with him.

Straddling Snape, he kneeled over him and pulled the man’s head to his chest.

“It didn’t hurt,” Harry whispered quickly into Snape’s hair under his chin. He held him in a firm embrace, softly caressing the back of the professor’s head, until he could feel Snape’s breathing even out. He had to calm down too, every inch of his body was screaming at him for more. It was like being teased for hours but never reaching satisfaction.

Snape’s hand was around him, too; one arm across his lower back, feeling the warmth of his skin, the other hand gently tracing under the torn gap of his shirt where Harry’s wound used to be. The touches made Harry shiver, but he forced himself to pull away.

He could only imagine how it must feel for a proud man like Snape to lose control like this, to endanger others, especially the man he had sworn to protect.

 “You’re insane if you’re willing to let that power go,” Harry said quietly, only faintly aware that he was sitting on Snape’s legs. “Stop being afraid of it and embrace it.”

“Embracing one’s instincts could bring bigger complications than denying them.” Snape said cryptically.

Harry had a faint impression they might not be talking just about magic.

“Or it could bring you relief you haven’t felt in a while.” He said then, standing up. He pulled Snape up, then let go of him quickly, afraid what he might do again.

Not being able to press a word through his tightly closed throat he just waved goodbye to Snape then turned to leave.

“Potter,” Snape called after him. His voice sounded levelled, controlled, not at all like his breathless, husky whispers only moments ago. “I gave you permission to use that classroom for practice. Spell practice and nothing else. If I catch you do anything else in there once more, our deal, including your private lessons, is over.”

Harry nodded, shakily. The thought that Snape, _Snape_ had saw him like that, naked, aroused even worse _coming_ , made Harry incredibly embarrassed, yet another thought lingered at the edge of his consciousness: what did Snape think of it?

“Won’t happen again, sir.” He said, knowing it was true. Even if he wanted to, he could never fix whatever happened between him and Ginny tonight. What was even worse, he could never undo his fantasies, or his wishes. He could never rewrite the invented images of Snape over him, nor the scent in his nose or the taste of electricity on his tongue. It rooted itself to his core, to the pit of his belly, to the darkest corner of his heart. Wherever it would grow from there was a frightening assumption.


	15. Irrelevant Actions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A lot of you felt sorry for Ginny which makes me happy i went this way with the story. I could have made her into a jealous little bitch who makes it hard on Harry and Severus and everyone would have been happy at the end of the chapter. But Ginny is innocent in all this. But so is Harry. You dont get to control your heart and you're bound to make mistakes while trying to realize what you want. Some people are bound to get hurt in the process. It had to be something big, something unfixable, that forced Harry to admit that this, him and Ginny, won't work - and that Snape is so much more important to him than anything else._

## XV: Irrelevant Actions

 

The next day, facing Ginny was hard. With lessons all morning it was easy to have a reason to avoid each other, but later on, as the sun set in the early afternoon, it became a challenge. Harry buried his head in his books, wrote his homework, read the texts for Wallace and even more. But as always, the moment he dreaded arrived sooner or later.

The Common Room was mostly empty, and, as if knowing what was about to happen, Ron and Hermione left his side as well. Then Ginny appeared, sitting on the couch as far away from him as possible.

Harry took a deep breath and looked up at her. He had not seen her this close all day, and it was clear she had been crying. Her face was puffy and her eyes red-rimmed.

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” Harry said quietly as he scooted closer to her. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You still managed,” she snivelled quietly.

“I really am sorry,” Harry repeated as if the words could turn back time, as if they could erase what had happened.

She sniffed, then wiped her tears away with her sleeve. “The worst thing is, I know you are.” She said quietly. “I _know_ you never meant to hurt me, but I also know you never loved me, not really.”

“That’s not…” Harry tried to disagree, but he could not say the words.

“It is true.” Ginny said quietly. “I should have seen this earlier, Harry. Your love for me is more like a desire. You want this, because I fit in this perfect image you have about how your life is supposed to happen, but you don’t love _me_. You love the _idea_ of a girlfriend, of a normal life and a normal job. But that’s not us.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “It’s not.” He looked at her and took her hand. “I do care for you, but you deserve better, Gin. You deserve someone who loves you deeply, who adores your smile, who is in love with every part of you, but I could never give that to you.”

Staring blindly at her knees, she just nodded. “How is he?” She asked quietly after a moment. She sounded like the words were cutting her and Harry suddenly became suspicious that Ron might not be the only one who had drawn some conclusions.

“Ginny, he has nothing to do with this,” Harry said giving her hand a quick squeeze.

“You can lie to me as much as you like, Harry, but at least don’t lie to yourself.” She frowned at him. “He has as much to do with this, as everything else. He’s been more important to you than I have, at least admit that.”

“You saw him yesterday, Ginny,” Harry said, letting her go. “You saw how scared Annabelle was.”

“I was scared, too,” she whispered as if admitting to a great secret. “He was terrifying.”

“You understand then why I had to go to him.”

“No,” Ginny said simply. “We’re in a _school_ , Harry, there’s at least fifteen professors here who should be able to fight him. It should not be a student who has to face that…that…”

“Before you say anything,” Harry warned her, “you might want to know that his magic became unstable because he was trying to save me, and it almost cost him his life.”

“That does not mean you owe him yours.” Ginny argued. “Stop lying to yourself and ask him why it has to be you, Harry.”

“Because I’m the only one who is as powerful as he is.”

“But you’re still not as powerful as fifteen other wizards together.” Ginny said then stood. “We shouldn’t talk for a while,” she added with her back to him, not even looking at him.

“No,” Harry frowned. “We should not.”

She walked away, but Ron and Hermione came back and sat down on both his sides. Harry knew they understood what happened, when Hermione pulled him to her chest wordlessly. There was something calming about her presence, about the sound of her gently beating heart under his ear. Harry hugged her, feeling sorry for a moment for all the months wasted on nothing.

Looking back on it now, Harry had to admit, at least silently to himself, that their relationship had lacked passion, warmth, love. It was comfortable from the very beginning. There were no high emotions, no desperation, no jealousy, not even lust. It was something falsely perfect, that they knew from the beginning that could work as long as they settled into an everyday steadiness. They were not happy, just secure.

o.O.o

The week went by in a sort of haze. Harry wasn’t heartbroken, but he thought that was how he should feel. He never cried over Ginny, never even felt the need to, though he had seen her more often than not with red rimmed eyes. Neville was by her side most of the time, and instead of jealousy, Harry was almost happy for them. Neville was a good guy, he was kind and he made Ginny laugh. _He_ would never leave Ginny to help Snape.

It seemed the whole school knew what had happened, even Wallace asked him if he was ready to continue assisting or would rather leave the teaching entirely to the professor, but Harry had just shrugged. He did not understand why everyone thought he had to be sad, when in fact, he was almost happy. He felt unrestricted, he had more free time, he caught up on his homework and extra studies for Defence, without feeling guilt. It was almost the fact that he did not feel sad that made him lethargic. If not the love of his life, Ginny was still a friend, should he not feel at least bad about losing someone so close? He couldn’t muster up any strong emotions even now, he only felt slightly shamefaced when he saw her cry.

Another unfortunate effect of the breakup was the love and sympathy letters that started arriving to Harry. More and more girls came up to him when he walked on the corridors, mostly to ask him out. Some were nice enough and just said a couple words of understanding, but there were some who started insulting Ginny. Those he sent away with some very rude words, the rest he thanked, or at least nodded to them as if he were listening.

He almost forgot he was famous. These last couple of months, he was so busy he didn’t even notice the attention. Most girls had left him alone; Ginny gained the reputation of a fierce witch in the battle and no one dared to mess with her. But she was gone and now girls of all age, like vultures circled around Harry.

Once again, he returned to his old tricks about avoiding them. The Invisibility Cloak and Disillusionment Charms became his best friends and he started using the hidden passages all around the castle. He was the last to appear at a classroom and the first to sneak out when the lessons ended.

As the weekend approached, Harry became certain he wanted to spend Saturday away from the castle. He needed some fresh air, some distance. He, Ron and Hermione decided to visit Hagrid again, perhaps the Keeper of Keys had some task they could help with.

Luckily, Hagrid was kept busy as always and he was grateful for any assistance.

“Sure, come along,” he said with a wide smile when the three students showed up on his doorsteps looking for something to do. “I thought all your N.E.W.T.s would keep you busy this year,” he commented as he was packing away food and some pumpkin juice for them to take with into the Forbidden Forest. “Instead you’re here almost as many times as when you tried to get some information from me about Fluffy and Flamel.”

“We just miss you, Hagrid.” Ron chuckled. “Besides it’s a little crowded up there in the Common Room nowadays.”

Given half the Gryffindor girl population was fluttering around Harry, the three of them barely had a quiet moment in the soft sofas around the fire anymore.

“It’s funny how much free time someone has without Quidditch and scheming maniacs wanting to kill us,” Harry grinned, too.

“Hagrid, are there wand trees in the Forest?” Hermione asked. “I have a paper to finish for Professor Sprout and it would be nice to see some of those trees in real life.”

“Oh, of course,” Hagrid nodded his bushy head. “All kinds. Ollivander is often lurking around here, too, in hopes of snatching some wood, but the bowtruckles are very wild and they don’t let him near any tree.” He winked. “But you’ll be fine as long as you stay with me.”

Hermione paled a little bit, but once they went out to the cold air, the colour came back to her cheeks right away. They headed to the forest, Hagrid and Harry in the lead and then Ron, Hermione and Fang in the back.

It was a beautiful day to go for a walk. The sky was clear blue, the sun was shining brightly. The ground was still covered with snow and it made the air seem warmer as if Spring was about to come, though it was only February. Even the freezing winds stayed away, and Harry was grateful: the quiet of the forest offered him the perfect escape.

Fang raced ahead, chasing a poor little squirrel and Harry heard Hermione chittering about her homework to Ron. Then Hagrid cleared his throat, and Harry instantly knew what was coming.

“So, I heard what happened to you and Ginny.” Hagrid said quietly.

“You and everyone in the school.” Harry nodded. “I get the same amount of pity looks and adorations. It’s like people suddenly realized the Hero is back on the market. Yesterday I had a first-year girl ask me out.”

Hagrid sniggered. “You’re famous and good-looking enough, I reckon. It’s no wonder, really.”

“I just want people to leave me alone.”

“The semester is almost over,” Hagrid noted. “You’ll get through this.”

That thought stuck with Harry for a moment. He would probably never see Snape once the semester ended. He could come visit, make some stupid excuse, but it would not be like this.

He sighed, and Hagrid seemed to have misunderstood it.

“There is still enough time to fix it with her,” said Hagrid, kindly. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not,” Harry said honestly, and it felt good to say it out loud. “We could never become the perfect couple everyone expected us to be.”

Hagrid laughed out booming. “Harry, I let you in a little secret me dad told me. There are no perfect couples. Look at these two,” he pointed behind them at Ron and Hermione. “They fight sometimes. That does not mean they don’t love each other.”

“We never fought,” Harry said quietly. “It was like neither of us really cared. We didn’t fight, because it wasn’t worth it. We were just cowards who did not dare admit that.”

Hagrid patted his shoulder, surprisingly gently. “It’s not a bad thing to want to love, Harry.”

Harry shook his head, not quite certain about that nowadays.

They wandered into the depth of the Forest but this time, Hagrid had taken them onto a winding path that wasn’t as narrow or dark. The trees around weren’t growing as thick either making it easier to observe their surroundings. Looking up, he could see the clear blue sky as well. They could all walk next to each other, talking, having fun. Occasionally, they would go off the path to check a wand tree, where Hermione would spend long minutes taking notes and asking questions.

Ron and Harry befriended a bowtruckle family feeding them woodlice, while Hermione and Hagrid studied the tree. A little bowtruckle even climbed up on Ron’s arm and searched his ear for some more lice. It was all fun, Ron kept laughing too, until one of its long arms sneaked up in other holes, hunting for more food. Ron snorted and lifted the little creature away from his nose. Harry couldn’t stop sniggering.

When Hermione had more than enough information about the wand trees and Hagrid’s satchel was threatening to rip from all the ingredients he had been collecting for Slughorn, they decided to stop somewhere and have a small lunch. Ron’s stomach agreed loudly.

Hagrid lead them to a bigger clearing with a couple trunks set around a stone firepit. Untouched snow crunched under their feet as they walked closer. The pit seemed ancient, its inside and top seemed almost blackened with years of ash. The stones were rounded and melded together. The centuries of rain had worn them down, made them smooth and polished.

“What is this place, Hagrid?” Harry asked.

“A sort of meeting room for the woodland creatures and wizards. This is where Professor Dumbledore had made treaty with the centaurs before the war.”

They collected some wood and soon a nice and warm fire was burning in the pit. They sat down onto the large logs.

“This is a sacred place,” Hagrid told them, while he patted Fang, who was lying at his feet. “A place a peace. It is forbidden to fight here.”

“Are there many places like this?”

“I don’t know. This has been here before Hogwarts perhaps. Druids used it for magic they say.” Hagrid shrugged.

As they sat around enjoying the warmth of the fire, a smaller black bird flew over to them. Fang looked up at it, barked once then lowered his great head back on the ground.

“Oh hullo,” Hagrid welcomed it with a smile holding his hand out for it to land on. The bird did so, and Hermione gasped sitting closer to the half giant immediately.

“She’s so beautiful!” She whispered excitedly. “Oh, how tame! Is she domesticated?”

The bird squeaked at her loudly, almost in an indignant manner, its feathers fanned out threateningly. It hardly worked, it was rather small, smaller than a raven, though slightly bigger than a blackbird. However, it was indeed pretty, even when angry. Its black plumage had a beautiful blue iridescent colour that reminded Harry of something. Yellow eyes watched them sharply.

Hagrid laughed out. “It’s a _he_ ,” he said, chuckling, “And I doubt anyone can say that the professor is either tame or domesticated.”

“The prof-?“ Hermione gasped surprised then her eyes went to Harry for a second then snapped back at the black bird. “Oh god,” she groaned mortified, blushing. She sat back next to Ron, far away from the animal.

Harry watched the bird, but it still took him a moment to catch on.

“Snape!” He cried, astonished.

“What?” Ron gaped.

The black bird jumped into the air and flew a circle around Hagrid then landed elegantly on the log Harry was sitting on. Now that he was closer, Harry immediately recognized the feathers. He had seen Snape’s hair recede into this form so many times. He almost reached out to touch them once again but forced his hand to stop just in time. Snape shifted back into his human form.

“I appreciate your compliment, Miss Granger,” he commented coolly, and Hermione hid her face.

“What the hell,” Ron grunted looking around. “I thought you’d be a raven or something. A crow. Not a… pretty one.”

Snape glared at Ron. “Excuse me?” He said slowly. Harry sniggered next to him.

“You know what I mean,” Ron snapped then he turned to Harry. “Tell him, Harry.”

Harry shook his head, he was within arm’s reach for Snape which meant a slap on the back of head any moment if he dared speak up. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Ron grunted, “Coward,” under his breath as he glared at Harry, but he did answer Snape. “You’re a grackle, aren’t you? Dad told me about those.”

“A _sail-winged_ grackle, Mr. Weasley.” Snape corrected him.

“God forbid someone mistakes you to a _common_ one, right?” Harry teased.

Snape turned to him and raised an eyebrow. His gaze measured Harry from top to toe as if assessing whether he would win a brawl or not. Harry cleared his throat and looked away. It wasn’t fear that intense stare made him feel.

“They’re great, grackles.” Hagrid said with a smile. “Vicious birds, but very clever and sly. They can quickly adapt to any change. Sail-winged is a British breed known for its endurance, silence, and intelligence.”

“They used them as spy birds,” Ron said. “In the Great war before Grindelwald. They have very distinct calls so you could send messages with them right over the enemy’s head and no one would realize. It was genius because the codes could mean different things in every mission. Besides at night they were technically invisible.”

“Their brilliance meant their demise as well.” Snape commented. “They are almost extinct now. When the enemy realized they could never decipher the code, they destroyed the carriers.”

In the silence, Ron’s stomach growled which reminded them why they gathered around the fire.

Hagrid pulled out a bag of food from his satchel and opened it. “We have food enough to feed half of the school,” he noted. “You’ll stay for lunch, right, Professor?”

Harry could tell Snape was about to decline. He kept staring at the fire, but he moved his leg slightly and pressed it against Snape’s. Anything more open would have been noticed, though he did not quite understand why that would have been wrong. He just knew it was.

Snape breathed in then nodded, forcing a polite expression on his face. “Why not,” he said and his thigh brushed against Harry’s more firmly as he leaned forward.

He pulled out his black wand from his inner pocket and waved it over the stone edge. A kettle appeared sloshing with water. Harry was certain, once the water boiled there would be tea-leaves in it as well.

It was a simple lunch of bread, cheese and fruits but soon Harry felt himself full. He washed it off with some pumpkin juice then Snape conjured a mug for them to have some tea as well. While Ron was still munching on his apple, Harry took a deep breath over the rim of the mug, letting the scent of peppermint tea calm him.

He needed to calm down. Their legs were still touching, such a small gesture, nonsensical and most likely not meaning anything. Yet Snape never moved away. The log was long enough, they could sit several feet away from each other, but they did not. They huddled together like Ron and Hermione on the opposite trunk.

Ron was constantly touching Hermione, but not in a conspicuous or bold way. His hand was just across her thigh or he was leaning on the log behind her. She acted nothing different. She was leaning against him, her elbow rested on Ron’s leg while she absentmindedly caressed his knee as she talked. It was heart-warming to watch them.

First time in a while, Harry felt a tinge of bitterness in his belly. It was almost close to jealousy. He wanted that. He never felt the need to touch Ginny publicly, to show that she was his. But the need was there with Snape, and the thought scared Harry. He wanted to reach over and slide his hand down Snape’s leg, let his finger possessively rest on Snape’s inner thigh.

He couldn’t do that of course, he wasn’t an idiot. Yet minutes later as he watched Snape, Hagrid and Hermione talk intently about the use of marigold regarding healing potions and salves he found his hand next to Snape’s. He was holding his mug in a way that allowed the back of his fingers to brush against the man’s hand. It was casual, accidental and Harry was certain Snape wasn’t at all aware of it. Yet even when the professor took a sip of his tea, he lowered his hand back there, so they would be close, touching.

Harry felt his heart hammer in his chest. It meant nothing, he kept telling himself, nothing at all. Then he noticed Ron looking. The beating stopped, his whole body froze. Ron looked him in the eyes. His face was expressionless.

Harry jerked away, distanced himself from Snape as if making a statement. He looked back at Ron but he was watching Hermione now as she made an argument. On Harry’s right however, Snape turned towards him. His dark gaze assessed the inch of empty chasm between their legs. His fingers flexed around his mug as he slowly looked at Harry.

Harry just kept staring at the fire. It meant nothing, he kept the mantra going on his head. He ignored how cold his whole side felt now, as if there was something missing from there.

Snape turned back ahead and placed his mug on the stone. He reached into his inner pocket and fished out one of those fancy, silver cigarette cases. He opened it and pulled a cig out. He was about to close it, when Ron reached out his hand.

“Can I have one?” He asked. Hermione slapped his arm, but he just brushed away her hands. “I told you it can’t hurt us.”

“It still smells.” Hermione commented folding her arms across her chest as she glared at Ron while he took a piece from the offered case.

Snape presented it to Hagrid as well, but he shook his bushy head. “I hate the stuff. Me dad used to smoke, too.”

“Dad smokes a pipe,” Ron shrugged when he noticed Harry’s questioning gaze. “We would sometimes nick his tobacco and roll our own fags. I tried it a couple times, but never formed the habit.” He shrugged. “The last time I had one, we were in Australia.”

Snape snapped his fingers and a little fire appeared on the tip of his thumb. He used it to light the cigarette, then bent forward and held it out to Ron. Ron nodded appreciatively as he leaned over the small fire and lit his cig, too.

When Snape sat back, their thighs were touching again. _Just an accident_ , Harry told himself.

Ron took a puff then looked at the cigarette as if something would be wrong with it. He exhaled slowly, then leaned into the smoke. He looked ridiculous as he tried to locate the taste in his mouth.

“This taste funny.” He commented. “It’s not just tobacco, is it?”

Snape shook his head. “Herbal mix; has a light soothing effect,” he nodded and took a long drag.

“Wait,” Hermione said suspiciously. “Do you mean…?”

“There are several different herbs mixed in with the tobacco,” Snape noted. “And before I have to listen to one of my students giving me a lecture in recreational drug use, let me remind you this has about as much of an effect on a wizards as lavender or lemongrass tea has on Muggles. Those are, by the way, two herbs that can also be found in this.” He held up the cig as a display.

“It’s not bad,” Ron said, then blew the smoke gently towards Hermione.

She sniffed it carefully then frowned. “It does smell nice.” She admitted.

“Harry,” Ron called, then raised his eyebrow. “You should try it, too.” He said casually, yet there was something in the way he looked at Snape and not Harry when he said it that was almost challenging.

“He did already,” Snape answered coolly before Harry could say a word. He offered Harry his cigarette, nonetheless.

Harry cast down his eyes for a moment. Did this really not mean anything whatsoever? He could still clearly recall Snape’s fingers against his lips, the taste of mint in his mouth. He watched the long fingers that held the fag now. His hand slid over them gently as he took it. Snape’s skin was warm against his. It meant nothing.

He looked Snape in the eyes as he put the cigarette between his lips, watched the dark gaze flutter down to his mouth for a moment before it returned to stare at him impassively. If this meant nothing, he _was_ _allowed_ to do this. He took a deep breath and let the smoke fill up his lungs. God it felt good.

Maybe this was just a stupid challenge Ron could tease him with later on. He looked at Ron to show he wasn’t afraid, but his best friend was ignoring him.

Ron was looking up at Hermione. Slowly he leaned in and place a small kiss on her lips. She let him, she didn’t pull away, even though he still had the cigarette in his hand.

When he pulled back, Hermione licked her lips. “It’s…” she was trying to guess the taste of the cig.

“Minty,” said Harry with a small smile. He could taste it, too, even though the smoke itself didn’t taste of menthol at all.

Hermione shook her head. “No,” she said thoughtful for a moment. “Apple,” she concluded in the end.

Smirking, Ron looked up, his gaze on Snape. Snape huffed, then looked away as if he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Harry felt as if he had missed something, as if those two had their secret conversation going on. Which was impossible.

Suddenly, Snape tapped Harry’s knee then gave it a small squeeze before he stood up. “Come on, Potter, it’s time you learn how to fly.”

“What!?” Harry cried looking after him. “Now?”

“It’s a windless day, perfect to practice gliding.”

Harry dropped the cigarette in his leftover tea and placed the mug on the ground. He stood then jumped over the log as he walked towards Snape. He looked back at his friends, but Ron, Hermione and Hagrid were talking among themselves already.

“Good luck, Harry!” Hagrid cried after them.

They walked further away from the fire.

“Your plumage and muscles are developed enough for you to be able to lift yourself up from the ground, but we’ll start with gliding. Turn,” he said.

Harry did so and next moment he stood not even eye-level to Snape’s knee. Snape squatted down and held out his arm for Harry to perch on. Harry was lifted in the air.

“Your wings are great and you barely weight anything, so you needn’t worry. As long as you open them you won't plummet. Bend slightly forward, then jump from my arm. You steer with your tail feathers. You have an aptitude for flying, so listen to your body. Make a circle around me, then land gently on the snow.”

“All right,” Harry said, but once again it was nothing just a loud squawk. He opened his wings half way then waited.

Snape lifted him a little further up, then jerk his arm as if to threw Harry off. Harry launched into the air, sharp talons cutting into Snape’s lower arm. Snape didn’t seem to notice, so Harry concentrated on gliding. His wings opened fully. He felt light as a feather as he drifted through the air. He made a circle around Snape, but when the snow came closer, he panicked. He pulled his wings in, afraid of injury and dropped into the snow like a rock.

Snape snorted as he fished Harry out of the snow and put him back on his arm. “Don’t panic. It never leads to anything.” He smirked.

Harry glared at him with great green eyes. Then shook himself plastering Snape with fresh, dusty snow.

Snape brushed most of it off his hair, before he said, “Don’t be angry with me, just because you forgot how to slow down. Your tail works the same way as your broom did. When you tilt the handle of your broom down and the brush is towards the sky, you go down and gather speed. When the handle or your head is towards the sky, and the brush or your tail to the ground, you’ll slow down.”

Harry chirped understanding then opened his wings slightly to signal he was ready for another try.

This time he even gave a couple gentle beats with his wing and made a lot larger circle around Snape before he touched down elegantly on the ground. This went on for a while, and Harry became braver and braver. He mostly only glided for the larger part of an hour, while Snape explained to him about the streams in the air. He made Harry fly over the fire to understand how warm air might push him up suddenly, while entering a cold stream of air would cause him to plummet if he wasn’t careful.

Soon Harry landed on not just Snape’s arm or shoulder but on Hermione’s leg or even Hagrid’s head. He let Fang chase him and manoeuvre easily between the others to throw him off. He wasn’t allowed to rise much higher than Hagrid, and he could not yet lift himself from the ground, but he still had a lot of fun.

“Come down, Potter,” Snape called, pleased after almost two hours of practice. He held out his arm for Harry to land on once again. Harry did so, then turned back into human, a little too early perhaps.

As his body shifted and grew, the next moment he found himself in Snape’s arms. He wanted to blame his unsteadiness on taking up his human form once again, but he suspected Snape’s closeness had more to do with it. Still, his hand grasped the professor’s arm to steady himself.

Snape didn’t seem to be in pain, but Harry could feel sticky wetness underneath his palm. When he lifted it, it came away red with blood.

His fingers moved to unbutton Snape’s sleeve, but the man pulled away. Harry rolled his eyes.

“We’re not going to have this conversation again,” Harry stated, holding his hand out expectantly.

“I can take care of it.” Snape stated, covering the cuts with his hand.

“I know that,” Harry nodded then motioned with his fingers. “C’mon, give me your hand.”

“No.” Snape said and stepped away.

Harry just smiled, but the next moment he grabbed Snape’s arm and pulled him closer. “Why do you think you can just say no to me?” He asked with a smirk, one eyebrow raised while a swish of his wand had the buttons undone.

Snape could pull away; Harry could still recall how easily he was held against the wall a couple months ago, but Snape seemed to accept his fate and stayed where he was, letting Harry heal him.

“I must be a very weak man, because apparently, I cannot say no to you.” Snape pointedly looked down on their joined hands, as Harry washed off the dried blood with a bit of _Aquamenti_.

“Weak?” Harry laughed as he healed the small cuts made by his talons. “I don’t think you’re weak, Snape. I think you just don’t _want_ to say no.” He brushed his palm once more across the healed skin, feeling its unmarred softness against his palm.

“And what I think is that you, Mr. Potter, should not delve into guesses regarding what I _want_. You might not like what you find.”

Obsidian gaze observed him intently for a moment then Snape looked away, frowning.

“I never realized how perceptive Weasley can be.” Snape commented out of nowhere.

Harry looked behind them, but Ron was too busy putting out the fire to care about them.

Snape shook off Harry’s hand, almost pushed him away and Harry staggered for a moment. “You should learn from him,” Snape said as he walked past Harry. Looking over his shoulder he added in a strange voice, “Maybe then you’d stay away from me.”

He grabbed his cloak and turned, shifting into his bird form amidst a flourish of billowing robes then flew away. Harry stared after him, uncomprehending. What the hell was Snape talking about?


	16. Precious Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm really curious what you think of this chapter. Let me know?_

## XVI: Precious Things 

 

A short message from Snape the next day informed him that his flying lessons would continue that evening. Harry was excited, so excited in fact that he could barely remain in one place. Staying in the Common Room was out of the question, given all the annoying girls continued to loiter around him like hungry hyenas.

He went to the Library instead but ignored all the books there. He pulled from his bag the tome Snape had given him and opened it up somewhere in the middle. He had read it from beginning to the end at least three times by now. There were passages in it he knew by heart.

Snape’s comments had filled every inch of empty space on the pages. Small, hand written notes just for Harry. Often, the original texts were crossed out, rude, but hilarious comments degrading the author were scrawled above it.

The Half-Blood Prince had returned, and Harry felt he was visited by a long-lost friend. He turned the pages carefully, read the notes like individual letters written just for him. It was a warming thought that Snape had taken the time to comment on almost each and every passage, just to help Harry.

He had spent half the afternoon in the Library poring over the book. Students came and went he wasn’t bothered by them. The sun set already when Ginny and Neville showed up. He did not want to be seen, so he closed the book, packed it away and sneaked out of the Library unnoticed.

He still had an hour till the flying lesson, but he didn’t want to go back to the Common Room. Instead he headed up the stairs to search out the little balcony where he had smoked his first cigarette.

He opened the heavy double doors quietly so that the couple Ravenclaws at the other end of the corridor would not notice him. He walked out and closed the doors gently.

He went to the marble railing and looked down. Endless looking chasm was under him, though he knew he wasn’t that far above yet. The grounds below were in darkness though and he couldn’t tell where the foot of the castle started.

He sat up on top of the baluster then turned around. His legs dangled over nothingness, but he wasn’t afraid. Nowadays, more often than not, he felt like that. Not quite fearless, but wanting to take risks. It was like his body was missing the life or death duels with Snape. Or perhaps it quivered for something else, something that was more related to the small, unnoticeable touches, than the grandiose fights.

He stared blindly ahead of him, his mind barely even understanding the bottomless pit beneath him. He felt the pull of the depth. It wasn’t that he wanted to jump, but the gravity seemed to be stronger here on top of the railing.

As he sat there, he recalled Ginny’s words to him about a need for a normal life, a girlfriend. Was is so bad, he thought, that he wanted just one thing in his life to be normal? He destroyed the greatest evil of the time at seventeen, did he not deserve a shred of normalcy? Did he really want that though? Clearly the perfect life with the perfect girlfriend wasn’t for him, but then what was?

His eyes caught a dark spot down below, moving further and further up. It ascended in circles, wings slapping in continuous rhythm. When it was almost at Harry’s height, it made an elongated eight in the air, flying still higher and higher. It came towards Harry, soaring through the air with a loud shriek.

Harry watch it, blue iridescent feathers shimmering in the moonlight, so beautiful, so elegant. Enviable as it glided gently towards him, surfing on winds with a slight flutter of his wings then descending gracefully.

Snape’s aim and speed were admirably perfect. He turned back into human while still in the air and all but stepped down onto the railing as if he still had great wings that held him up. Harry watched him with awe.

He regarded Harry for a moment with a raised eyebrow.

“What is it? A heartbreak, at last?” Snape sneered as he jumped down onto the balcony. His cloak fluttered in the air but other than that, his feet touched the ground soundlessly. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly suicidal.”

Harry huffed as he watched Snape pull out the silver case from his inner pocket. Did Snape hear about his breakup or was this just the usual teasing?

“I’m not suicidal,” Harry said, then a moment later he added, “And not heartbroken either.”

“What then? Her skills not up to your standards?” Snape smirked as he put the cigarette in his mouth but left it unlit for now.

Harry’s eyes went wide as memories of _that_ night came back. What Snape must have seen… and what Harry was thinking of in the meanwhile.

“That’s not it.” He said quietly.

Snape leaned against the railing, cig between his lips still not smoking. His dark, unreadable gaze was on the forest far away as he shrugged, “You didn’t look like someone not enjoying himself anyway.”

Mortified, Harry looked down into the abyss beneath his feet. Jumping did not seem such a bad idea all of a sudden.

“I should apologize,” he said, looking at Snape. He never should have gone in that classroom, especially not with Ginny.

Snape lit the cigarette at last, then turned around and hopped on the railing, too. He sat with his back to the forest for a moment while he took a long drag. He bit the cigarette between his teeth then lay down on the balustrade.

His head was towards Harry, inches from his thigh. His face was the same pale white as the marble. His dark eyes glinted in the moonlight as he slowly exhaled the smoke. His cloak underneath him spread out on both sides like black wings. Harry looked over the lean body, one leg tucked up, the other swinging over nothing.

“I imagine I owe you an apology as well,” said Snape. “I knew you would be there, but I still should have sent my Patronus ahead.”

Only a small part of Harry’s brain acknowledged the words. He wasn’t listening. Snape looked stunning in the pale light of the moon. Full of contrast, dark and light, soft and hard edges like a bare cliff above calm water. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man.

Harry touched his shoulder, asking for the cigarette, or perhaps for something else.

Snape reached for the silver case in his pocket, but Harry stopped him.

“No.” He said softly. “Yours is fine.”

Snape flicked off the ash then handed the cig over to Harry. Harry inhaled the smoke, hoping that the herbal mix would help with his wildly beating heart though he suspected as long as Snape was lying inches from him, spread out, not a single part of his body would be calm again.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said as smoke slithered from his mouth. “We broke up.”

“Is that so?” Snape asked after a minute.

Harry placed the cig to Snape’s mouth. His pointing finger traced the ridged edge of Snape’s upper lip while he watched Snape take a deep breath, his eyes closing, Harry suspected, in pleasure. Whether he enjoyed the smoke or Harry’s touch, he couldn’t say.

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged.

The cigarette was back between his lips. There was something incredibly intimate in sharing a cig with Snape. The way the little brown stub moved from lip to lip. The taste of menthol. Harry wanted to cut out the middle man and get a first-hand taste of Snape. He gave the filter a light lick. Such a weird thing to do, yet, knowing where it was, where it would be, still arousing.

“It wasn’t what it should be. What any of us expected. We changed too much since that year. The war and… everything else have changed us so much.”

“Or maybe you didn’t change at all,” Snape told him. “Maybe this was always who you truly were, and the war just made you realize that.”

“Could be,” Harry nodded. “Maybe it wasn’t even the war that made me realize things.”

He placed the cigarette to Snape’s mouth. Thin lips opened and as Snape sucked on the fag and his cheeks hallowed, Harry couldn’t help himself. His thumb traced the sharp jawbone and soft face. Eyes closed, Snape did not react, but the small jerk of his hand that was hanging in the air showed that he indeed felt the motion.

Harry leaned over him. “Hey Snape,” he said tentatively. Dark eyes watched him. Harry inhaled the white smoke that escaped from Snape’s lungs. “How much of it did you see?”

Snape knew what he meant, Harry could see it as his obsidian eyes flashed.

“Just the end,” he answered after a long pause. His voice was hoarse. Probably just the cigarette. Maybe the memories.

Harry saw them too, at least what he had imagined in those moments. Black eyes looking up from between his legs. Long, black hair sliding against the inner side of his thighs. Thin lips around his cock, wet tongue tracing the soft head of his leaking erection like it did now with the end of the cigarette.

Harry wavered, brushed away a couple long tresses from Snape’s face, as his gaze darted from one dark eye to the other, which like the abyss seemed to pull him down. Snape’s hand rose in the air and five fingers ran through Harry’s hair. Snape looked just as surprised by the motion as Harry, but didn’t pull back his hand, just licked his dry lips.

Harry swallowed hard. “Did you like it?” He whispered so quietly, it could have been just a thought. But it wasn’t.

Snape closed his eyes firmly and turned his head away, his hand falling back down.

“Fucking hell, Harry,” he grunted. “You can’t ask me that.”

He didn’t look at Harry again. The next moment however, he rolled left, and his body tumbled down the marble.

Screaming his name, Harry grabbed for him and even managed to grasp the edge of his cloak, but it slipped from his hand in the end. He almost jumped after him, but then Snape opened his arms and shifted into a bird firm.

The wind lifted him up immediately and he soared away. Harry looked after him, heart hammering in his chest.

Snape didn’t go far though. Harry watched him fly around for at least twenty minutes, making insanely fast circles and eights in the sky.

Harry didn’t know what to make out of Snape’s sudden retreat, though he was sure it was for the best. He couldn’t ask questions like that from one of his professors. He doubted he could ask that question from anyone. Yet Snape’s reaction left him bewildered. He could have said no, he could have laughed at Harry, but he didn’t. Instead he went flying.

When Snape returned and turned back into a human, he was panting slightly from all the exercise.

“Let’s go, Mr. Potter,” he instructed Harry. “It’s time to continue your lessons.”

Harry watched him but didn’t move from the top of the marble. Cold wind blew into Snape’s clothes and his robes swelled up for a moment like sails in a sudden storm. Harry was almost afraid, he would fly away again.

Snape held out his hand impatiently. “You can continue moping about your girlfriend, or you can come with me.” He said in a strangely restrained voice.

Harry took his hand.

o.O.o

They walked down to the Quidditch pitch next to each other in silence. Harry wasn’t sure what to say, damning his own stupidity for the awkward tension between them. He stayed in silence trying not to think any more of that single moment, of Snape’s hand in his hair, or his own insolent fingers tracing the man’s lips, but he couldn’t get the image out of his mind.

It was late enough that no teams were out anymore, and the field stood empty and dark. The pitch was kept clean of snow. It was a black, mostly grassless spot among the white hills of Hogwarts. The ground beneath their feet was hard and frozen, perfect for launching, Harry thought.

To his surprise however he spent most of the next hour jumping. A swish of Snape wand had columns of soil rise from the surface. Bigger and smaller pillars like a maze covered a minor part of the pitch like trunks of trees, and Harry had to manoeuvre through them without flying. Snape said he had to learn to use his talons and wings to hold on; jumping from tree to tree could be the easiest way to move in a thick forest.

Later on, when Snape was satisfied with his performance, the professor transformed a couple mice and Harry had to catch them, skipping from the pillars standing close by to one another. His owl eyes allowed him perfect vision even in the pitch darkness, he caught every small movement in the grass. It was almost a game, though, the small space was almost barely enough for a couple beats of his great white wings and his legs ached by the time they were finished. Harry still enjoyed himself immensely.

Once their one hour was up, Snape called him back. Harry skipped from one of the pillars then glided onto Snape’s outstretched arm. He touched down gently, careful with his talons not to hurt the man again.

“We are done for tonight. You may change back now,” he said, as he flicked his wand restoring the Quidditch pitch to its original state.

Harry, however, didn’t want to turn back just yet. He wanted to fly some more, actually be out there and soar through the field as he had once done on his Firebolt.

He hooted at Snape, big green eyes looking up at the man pleadingly.

Snape wasn’t touched. “I’m a busy man, Potter, and it has been a long day,” he said but Harry was relentless.

He jumped up to Snape’s shoulder. “Please,” he chirped into his ear softly. He gently pecked at the cartilage, carding through the long, black tresses with his beak just as Hedwig used to do it. He tried not to think how this would look if he wasn’t in his animal form at the moment. And still, a part of him wanted to transform.

Snape huffed and Harry could swear he saw a momentarily smile even, as Snape closed his eyes, hand coming up to pet Harry’s head, before he murmured, “All right, you annoying feather ball, go then.”

Harry hooted at him happily then jumped up in the air, wings beating with a steady rhythm as he flew higher. He didn’t want to go far, he stayed over the pitch, soaring great circles just to stretch his muscles.

Flying as a bird was so similar to using a broom, at least when it came to the manoeuvres, but the feeling was something entirely different. Every inch in Harry’s body tensed and released with every beat of his wings. It was like his whole system was created for the complex function of flying, every muscle, every bone, every feather had to perform perfectly otherwise he would plummet.

His blood buzzed as he glided through the cold air, wings sailing on vagrant currents almost effortlessly. He was weightless up here. Free of the foreboding future, of his N.E.W.T.s, even Snape was far away, nothing more than a little dark spot on the stand.

Only a couple beat of his wings had him glide over the field smoothly. It was such an amazing feeling to be up here, unaided, just on his own merit and effort. The inescapable sensation of dark eyes watching his flight followed Harry all across through his little exercise. Unrelenting, he just kept going, his white wings stroking the night sky.

Snape never called him down. Regardless of his earlier notion of being busy, he stayed up on the stand, leaning against the wooden railing, eyes on Harry. He never signalled with anything, not even with an impatient glare, that Harry should come down. He could also leave him now, there was no lurking danger anymore that would take the opportunity and attack Harry once alone, but he didn’t.

He only moved to light a cigarette once Harry landed breathless next to him and shifted to his human form. He took the first drag, then handed it over to Harry in silence. Harry let his fingers brush over Snape’s as he took it, ignoring the black eyes that watched him.

He more like played with the cigarette than actually smoked it. He traced the tip with his tongue, blew softly on the glowing ember, let his head fall back as he breathed out the grey smoke, all but offering his neck to be bitten, kissed, licked.

Snape didn’t catch the bait. _Why would he,_ Harry thought to himself bitterly. It wasn’t like their innocent touches meant anything after all. Like Snape’s hand on his body when he learned to transform, these touches were nothing more than glimpses of showing trust, showing that they were comfortable with each other. Except Harry wasn’t comfortable with any of this anymore.  Every touch set him on fire. He found nothing relaxing in Snape’s long fingers carding through his hair, not in his closeness, not in his intense gaze that watched Harry even now.

“Why a bird, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked suddenly, voice hoarse.

Harry shrugged, crushed the cig, let it fall. “I wanted to fly,” he answered quietly. “I wanted to be free.”

“Aren’t you?”

Harry thought of Ginny, of the idea of a perfect life that had chained him to her. He thought of how much he wanted to cover Snape’s hand on the railing with his, entwine their fingers and pull the man closer. How much he wanted to feel that long, soft hair caress his chest as Snape showered his skin with wild kisses. He thought of how much of a bad idea that was, how it could not happen, ever.

He shook his head lightly and looked into the endless eyes, as he said, “No, I’m not. There are still chains holding me from what I really want to do.”

Black gaze held his, relentless, irresistible. “Crush them,” Snape all but growled. “Crush them all. Fly, if that is what you desire.”

Harry had to grasp into the railing not to move, not to do as asked. His knuckles whitened from the force, but he managed to stay in place. He wondered though if Snape knew, if he had even an inkling of an idea what he was suggesting to Harry. Of course, he didn’t, Harry had to realize once the flash of lust abated from his mind.

“You?”

“My reasons were not as noble as yours, I’m afraid,” Snape answered with a bitter smile. “I simply wanted to impress.”

“You learned Animagic to impress Riddle?”

“I had to stand out one way or another. I wanted to be seen, recognized.”

“I bet you were,” Harry whispered then stepped away from the railing. He stood behind Snape and placed his hand over the middle of the man’s back, right between his shoulder blades. “Show me your wings,” he asked softly.

Feathers sprouted beneath his touch as Snape lifted his arms, spread them out. Harry watched them transform, unable to take his gaze away from the long black feathers as Snape’s arms morphed to wings.  They were long, at least twice the size of Snape’s height. They were also breath-taking.

He had done this a million times himself, but never seen Snape like this. The iridescent feathers gleamed in the night light. The moon made them shimmer with blue colour, almost as if Snape’s magic had seeped through them, glowing slightly.

He drove his hands over Snape’s shoulders, soft feathers tickling his palm. He traced the wings, burying his fingers in them. Snape let out a harsh breath.

“They’re beautiful,” Harry sighed, pressing his forehead against Snape’s nape. Feathers brushed against his lips, every exhale made them flutter gently, teasingly. Harry was so aroused all he wanted to do was step closer and press up against Snape’s body.

“Hm,” came a breathless grunt from Snape. “A lot of things had been said about my wings, but I don’t think anyone ever called them beautiful.”

“They were blind.” Harry said and gave in to the persisting urge and placed a small kiss on Snape’s back. He could feel the man’s body tense up, all but sensed the shaking breath leave Snape’s lungs.

“So are you,” Snape hissed with a dangerous edge to his tone.

Harry’s hands moved on Snape’s wings, feeling them slowly shift back into human arms. “Does this bother you?” Harry whispered, fingers grasping the professor’s shoulders, his nose buried into the man’s black hair. Gods he smelled amazing, and Harry wanted to move closer and make sure Snape fully understood what effects this had on Harry’s wayward body.

“Yes,” Snape grunted firmly.

Harry moved his hands away, shifted them down the man’s back and left them on his slim hips, touching him lightly. Snape could easily move away. But he didn’t. “Does this bother you?”

He was careful to only touch Snape where and how he was touched while learning Animagic. Those touches didn’t matter after all, they were just a tool for learning, and they meant absolutely nothing. Right?

“Yes,” hissed Snape.

“And this?” One of Harry’s hand slipped down over a lean thigh. Immediately, fingers went around his wrist clasping it with an iron hold. Harry smiled. Pressing his boundaries felt just as liberating as flying did.

“Watch your hands, Mr. Potter, you’re not petting a little bird anymore.” Snape growled.

Harry didn’t care. “I like watching you fly,” he admitted quietly. “You’re beautiful out there. You’re elegant and refined. I don’t think you only learned Animagic to impress Riddle. I think you wanted to get away, fly as far as you can.”

Snape remained quiet for a moment, then said, “Maybe you are right. Maybe I hated everything I was and needed to be something else.” He cleared his throat. “But still, flattery won't get you anywhere, Mr. Potter.” He added as he pulled Harry’s hand from his leg. Harry let him go and leaned against the railing next to the man once again.

“And what about honesty?”

Black eyes watched him as Snape said, “Honesty, Mr. Potter, is a double-edged sword. We wish to hear the truth but realize only too late that knowing it will destroy us.”

“I’ve had enough lies. I want the truth.”

“You do not know what you want.”

“I do. And I think we might even want the same thing.” Harry said carefully.

Snape laughed. “I _highly_ doubt that, Mr. Potter.”

“I’m not the only one still chained.” Harry said. “You still have the weight of your past to hold you down.”

Snape watched him thoughtful for a moment. “Forgiveness?” He said with mirth. “You think I want forgiveness for my past crimes? That I want my Mark gone, rid myself of people like Wallace? You think that is what I want?” The black eyes bore into Harry, pierced him, held him in one place. They also made his blood boil. “Oh Potter, how wrong you are once again.”

With that, Snape pushed himself away from the railing, tried to walk away, but Harry grasped his arm. “Not forgiveness. Freedom.” He said looking at the man beside him. “To be free to do whatever you want.”

Snape looked away from Harry, then shook off his hold from his arm. He didn’t say anything, as if he needed some time to think, or maybe Harry had hit the bullseye with that, and Snape just didn’t know what to say anymore.

“I am… I am a captive bird, Mr. Potter, with broken wings. The key to my cage has been long discarded, it probably never even existed. I accepted that.” He slowly looked at Harry, afraid what he would see there. “I am content with occasional glances at the sky, with little kernels to satiate my scorching hunger.”

Harry held the intense gaze once more, his expression fierce. “You shouldn’t be. You were born to fly, just like me.”

Snape closed his eyes, sighed deeply. “Some cages are there to keep the world out and thus protect something precious from harm. Some, like mine, exists to protect something precious out there from a monster that would devour it within a heartbeat.” 

“You’re not a monster, Severus,” Harry said lightly. “Besides,” he gave Snape’s shoulder a tight, reassuring squeeze as he walked past him, “Some precious things might like to be devoured.”

It took Snape a while to catch up to him. Harry was already walking on the winding, dark path that lead back up the castle, when a little black bird flew onto his shoulder. They continued like this and Harry didn’t mind the light weight of the lean bird. He smiled as soft feathers occasionally brushed against his cheek, as a sharp beak raked through his hair as if looking for something.

Snape only turned back once they were back in the castle. There was no one around, it was late. Hogwarts fell silent around them once again.

Harry looked at the man, offered him a light smile. “Thanks for the flying lesson, Professor.”

Snape regarded him in turn. After a moment, he moved closer and once again, Harry’s heart was drumming in his throat.

“Did you like it?” Snape asked softly, his deep voice was honeyed with something dangerous and suddenly Harry was inadvertently reminded of their little conversation earlier tonight. His cheeks flushed by the thought what those eyes had seen only a couple nights ago.

“Yes,” he answered, gulping.

A dark gaze roamed on his whole body, got stuck on his lips for a moment longer before Snape looked Harry dead in the eyes again.

“So did I, Mr. Potter.” He murmured with a hoarse tone. “So did I.”


	17. Freed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My dear Lovelies, I'm so happy to read your thoughts and comments on the chapters. You guys dont know how anxiously I sit in front of my laptop waiting for the first comments to appear in my inbox, to see how one sentence or the whole chapter has effected you, what it made you think of. Keep these comments up, i'm honestly living for this._
> 
> _May you all have a spoooooky Halloween!_

## XVII: Freed

 

Harry spent hours of his days trying actively not to think of Snape. He had an easier job when he didn’t see the man, but sometimes at the worst moment memories would come, his body would remember the touch of feathers, of fingers stroking his hair, the taste of mint and he would zone out, as if the world suddenly ceased to exist.

His mind still rebelled against the idea. The only sober part of him that kept insisting this was lunacy, that surely there was a reasonable explanation that could be blamed that he was not in fact madly attracted to Severus Snape. The man’s magic could have been the easiest solution, could have explained all, except those moment when there was no magic whatsoever, just a pale face close to his thigh, dry lips inches from his that he wanted to taste so badly. It didn’t explain why he wanted to press against Snape’s back, hard and needy, why he wanted those long fingers around him, easing this tension from his body.

Harry went from lesson to lesson, studied, wrote homework, ate. Night slowly dripped into morning, the days dragged on, and the only moment he felt awake was when he could see Snape, even if for just a blink of an eye, even if from several feet away. It had been ages since the doe came for him, and his only hope for a personal meeting was their usual Sunday evenings.

Snape could have given him a slip of paper about the time of their next meeting and the password to the Headmaster’s study. He could have sent an owl, or even another student or a member of the faculty.

But of course, Snape wasn’t a usual man, and hence that Sunday, early in the afternoon, Harry found himself in an empty classroom near the Great Hall, where he had followed a little black bird.

Harry stood in the dimly lit room and watched the bird circle around him until it landed on his shoulder. Harry pressed his head against the soft feathers, his eyes closing with contentment. His body reacted to the small touch immediately, grasped after it as if Snape would be fresh air he had been denied.

The bird changed, morphed, Harry could feel the warmth of a body behind him, the weight of a hand still on his shoulder.

“I can feel you watch me, Mr. Potter,” Snape said in an unhurried, soft voice that hummed around them in the empty classroom. “Your eyes follow me on the corridor, they inspect me when I walk, when I eat, when I talk. Even when I lock myself away, I can feel your gaze on me.”

Shuddering, Harry tried not to move. He suspected it wouldn’t be just his gaze on Snape, if it was only up to him.

“Have I done anything to merit your suspicion?” Snape questioned still in a low voice, speaking slowly as if measuring every word. He sounded almost anxious. “Have I perhaps stepped over a line that was _never_ meant to be crossed?”

Shivers ran down on Harry’s bare arms and he gulped heavily. He could say yes and then this would all stop. After all these months of lessons, Snape was still asking him, ‘ _Does this bother you’_ and Harry still didn’t have a better response than a simple lie.

“No.” Harry whispered in a weak voice.

Snape had not crossed any lines but Harry had been dancing on them, worn them down, demolishing them until no one could say they were there at all.

“Does that mean,” Snape asked quietly closer to him unexpectedly, making him take a sharp breath, “that you still trust me?”

“Of course,” Harry answered but the hand disappeared from his shoulder. He could feel Snape move away from him too, his whole body felt cold, shivering.

“ _Of course_ , he says,” Snape hissed sounding irritated suddenly. “Lean back then.” He ordered harshly.

Harry did without hesitation. A firm body came up to his to catch him, pressed against him, held him. Strong arms were around his chest, clasping into his shirt. He reached behind, fingers dashing into feathery soft hair, fisting the long tresses, pulling Snape closer.

He could feel lips against his ear as Snape growled, “You’ll never learn, do you?”

“Mm…” Harry moaned. “Pig-headed Gryffindor, remember?”

Snape chuckled, the dark sound made Harry’s legs buckle. A firm thigh pressed against his arse to hold him up and it made Harry’s hard cock pulse with excitement. “Gods,” he grunted.

“You’ll be praying for them tonight,” Snape promised.

“When?” Harry asked breathless, trying to turn but the arms around him held him firm, didn’t let him move.

He pressed his face against Snape, felt hot breath against his skin as the man answered, “Seven.”

“Where?” Harry keened pressing back, but the body he wanted to hold on to disappeared.

He all but fell back as Snape moved away from him and with quick steps marched to the door. Hand on the knob, he looked back.

A shimmering darkness crossed his eyes. “Astronomy Tower. We’ll see how much you can still trust me when we are up there… again.”

Minutes later, Harry was still in a shock, which was the only reason he didn’t notice the danger in time and allowed himself to be trapped by a group of Hufflepuff girls. The club of his adoring fans only grew larger and larger every day he had spent single, which Harry found more hilarious than anything, given there was only one person he seemed to be interested in nowadays and neither was he a girl, or even remotely pretty and young.

“Hi **,** Harry,” one of them said, while the other three lingered in the back, keeping an eye out.

“Hi **,** Miranda,” Harry said anxiously.

She pointed at the unused classroom Harry had just walked out of, and said, “Could we have a private word in there?”

Harry knew it wasn’t talking Miranda was after.

“Oh no, sorry, I’m a bit busy.”

“Come now, Harry,” she smiled teasingly, taking Harry’s hand. “Won’t take long.”

Harry was certain that would be true. He would never touch her. She was however very persistent, and Harry didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

“Really,” He said more firmly, desperately wishing that Snape had lingered around and could save him from this awkward situation. “I’m busy, Miranda.”

“Let me make you forget about all your problems,” she whispered in a what, Harry could only assume, was meant to be seductive voice.

He tried not to laugh as he recalled the deep voice that did actually manage to seduce him any moment of any day. “Let me go, Miranda,” he said calmly.

He could see a flash in her blue eyes, and her fingers tightened around Harry’s wrist even more, but before Harry would have to resort to hexing her, a friendly voice called out his name.

“Harry, just the man I’m looking for,” Professor Wallace beamed and the Hufflepuff girls dashed away, with one last lustful gaze at Harry.

The professor only smiled, trying not to notice Harry’s blushing cheeks. He was carrying a large stack of books, while another smaller one trailed behind him.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Harry asked relief evident in his tone.

“Oh nothing,” Wallace said, looking after the girls. “You just seemed like someone in need of assistance.”

When Harry laughed, the professor added, “I’ve seen that panicked expression on you enough times while you studied advanced Defence to know it, though I’m surprised. Miss Howards seems to be a very kind girl and rather pretty, too, if one could only disregard the rumours, of course.”

“The rumours?” Harry asked.

“Far be it from me to besmirch someone’s character,” Wallace said with a little sly smile and Harry knew he would be doing just that within a second. “Let’s just say, some of the Slytherins let it slip that as a true Hufflepuff, she has a generous soul, and she’s inclined to share it with as many males as possible.”

“Yeah, she was trying to share her generous soul when you came,” Harry chuckled. “I owe you my thanks, Professor.”

“Don’t mention it,” Wallace smiled warmly. “Love is all fine, until we’re stronghanded into it,” he commented with an eye roll. “I shall go now, I have a little bit of preparation to make for our next class.”

“Do you need help with those,” Harry called after him, motioning at the books that hovered behind Wallace.

“Well, if you have nothing better to do, I wouldn’t mind having the helping hands of my assistant do a little favour for me.”

Harry smiled at the man then took the heavy books from the air. “Lead the way, sir.”

He followed Wallace to his classroom where the man dropped the books he was carrying onto his desk, then went into an adjacent room. Minutes later he reappeared carrying a larger box. He placed it in front of Harry, then kneeled next to it.

Harry saw soft cloths and a pillow, but other than that the box was empty. Yet Wallace watched it affectionately. He kneeled down, hoping that upon closer inspection he might see what he was supposed to.

“Come now, darling,” Wallace said, and Harry’s eyebrows ran up on his forehead. “There’s no need to be shy.”

Suddenly, sad black eyes watched Harry and he fell back.

The box wasn’t empty anymore. A slim, monkey-like creature was sitting in it, munching a carrot. It had long, silky hair, that covered his whole body, even his eyes were barely visible.

“What is that?” Harry asked, mouth agape.

“This, Harry, is a _demiguise_.” Wallace said proudly. “An old friend of mine saved this little thing from poachers. You see her fur is extremely valuable, it’s used to make Invisibility cloaks.”

Harry watched the beast as it timidly offered her carrot to Wallace, apparently a sign of trust, who shook his head and petted the soft fur. “You like it more than I do,” he smiled.

“What do you want to do with her?” Harry asked. “Will you keep her?”

“I can't keep her, unfortunately,” Wallace said sadly. “The school is just too stressful for her. She’ll be taken away to a sanctuary. But Rolf, my friend, had to leave the country to arrange matters and it wasn’t safe to take her with him, so he left her here with me for a day or two.” Wallace looked up at Harry, excitement glinting in his brown eyes. “You want to help me with the next lesson?”

“You mean you’re going to take her to class?”

“Of course!” Wallace said. “She’s perfectly fine as long as we stay reasonably quiet. It’s loud noises and large gatherings that she doesn’t like. She might be a little anxious at the beginning, but she shows herself as long as I’m around.”

Harry agreed to help, and he spent the rest of the afternoon with Wallace and their little new friend reading up on _Demiguises_. As seven o’clock drew close however, he excused himself. He was already at the door, when he heard soft feet behind him. The _Demiguise_ walked up to him, sad brown eyes watched him, then she held out a slice of her peach to Harry.

Harry looked up at Wallace, who nodded pleased, then took the bite of fruit. “Thanks,” he said to the little beast but to Wallace as well.

o.O.o

The wind was strong on top of the Astronomy Tower. Harry had not been up here since _then_. As far as he knew, Astronomy was held in one of the many different towers of the castle. No one came here, and no one wanted to, either. Everyone avoided the place like the plague.

But not them apparently.

Snape walked to the slim iron railing and looked over. Harry followed him. They were way higher than the balcony they usually smoked on. In the vast distance, snow glimmered atop mountains. They could see the whole of the Black Lake in the evening moonlight, while the Forest was just a dark blemish on the white grounds.

“Flying is like a duel,” Snape said. “You must be prepared for everything. Out there, you will be nothing more, just a bird, wandless, magicless, exposed to winds, rain, animals, and many other dangers. It is important that you never panic, because if you do, you won't be able to change back.”

“I understand,” Harry said.

Snape looked at him. “Then jump.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Are you insane?”

Snape huffed. “You need to learn to change during a fall. What if you’re out there, flying over the Forest and a thestral attacks you? You won't be able to outfly it. You will have to change to scare it away. Not all animals will sense that you’re more than an owl.”

Harry looked down into the endless abyss then backed away. “No. No way. I’ll turn into a bird and _then_ jump.”

“No. Believe me, you need to do this. One way or another.”

Snape climbed over the railing and stood on the other side. Harry grasped into his robes with a hand.

“Bloody hell, Snape, don’t do it.” He pleaded.

Snape looked at him and smiled. He took Harry’s hand on his chest and gently pried it away from his body.

“Falling is the best part of flying,” he said softly then let go of Harry and plunged into the darkness.

Harry couldn’t see him, he could only hope that he was all right. Not a minute later the black grackle swished up, then Snape dropped from the air behind Harry.

“Your turn,” he said.

Harry looked behind himself at the abyss, then back at Snape. His heart was in his throat. “No,” he choked.

Snape stepped slowly closer. “Do you still trust me?” He asked.

Shakily, Harry nodded. He looked over his shoulder once more, then gripped the railing as hard as he could. “But I can't do this. Can’t we start with something smaller? Like a tree?”

“You’d hit the ground before you realize what’s happening. The first time must always be from a greater height.” Snape was another step closer.

“Did you…” Harry gestured behind him. “Here?”

“Yes,” he said. “And I was alone. You won't be.”

Harry breathed in deep. “I could use another cig right now.”

Snape shook his head. “After, if you do well.” He said. “You trust me?” He asked again.

“Yes,” Harry swallowed.

“Then close your eyes.”

“Oh god,” Harry grunted. His heart was beating so fast he was afraid it would break out of his ribcage. His eyes closed, but his hands fisted around the railing even more.

The first touch of Snape’s fingers on his hand was like electricity, and Harry had to open his eyes to make sure, the man wasn’t glowing again.

Questioningly raised eyebrow welcomed him. “Trust issues after a break up?” Snape teased, his lips curling.

Glaring at him, Harry rolled his eyes, then closed them again.

“Breathe,” Snape said as his palms shifted over Harry’s fists. “In and out. Slow, deep breathes.”

Harry did as he was asked. Listening to Snape’s deep baritone was rather calming. He wished he could listen to it all night, telling him more than just to breathe in and out.

“Hold my hands,” Snape said softly, and Harry’s belly gave a tumble as if he would be falling already.

He let go of the railing, or rather let Snape’s fingers pry his off.

Snape was holding his hand, such a contrast – warm against his cold skin.

“Did you know, you cannot control a blush?” Snape asked and Harry didn’t dare open his eyes. Snape’s voice came from very close. Too close even. “You can control your thoughts, you can control your heartbeat or your breathing. But you cannot control a blush. Do you know why?”

Harry gulped. If he wasn’t blushing until this point, he was now. His cheeks burnt as he felt Snape’s fingers calmingly caress him. He knew the professor was doing this to avert Harry’s attention from the endless darkness behind them. He knew it. And yet.

Harry’s eyes remained closed as he shook his head.

“Because it is an instinctive emotional reaction to thoughts we find… shameful… inappropriate… or intriguing...”

He could hear as Snape took a deep breath, felt him move closer and lift their joined hands up slightly.

“So, tell me, Potter, why exactly does holding my hand make you blush?”

Harry grunted as a lean body pressed against him. Just a distraction, his mind told him, but then Snape placed Harry’s hands on his shoulders, before he let him go. Long hair brushed against Harry’s fingers as he moved his hands up on Snape’s neck, thumb recklessly shifting over bobbing Adam’s apple, caressing the line of Snape’s jaw. He explored Snape like a sightless man, building up an image of him based only on touch.

“You can’t ask me that,” Harry said. If Snape had been allowed to have that as an excuse not to answer, so could Harry.

His impetuously moving thumb slipped over Snape’s lips. He could feel them pull up into a smile.

“There’s a way out for you as well,” Snape suggested in a low voice.

Lips beneath his fingers formed words, words that barely got to Harry’s mind. Snape was leaning closer to him. His body pressed to Harry’s as his palm rested gently over Harry’s frantically beating heart.

Harry shook his head slightly. “I’m scared,” he whispered.

He wasn’t entirely sure if he was afraid of jumping off the tower or overcoming that couple of inches that still stood between him and Snape.

“We had a deal, do you remember?” Snape asked. “The week before I almost killed you.”

“Yes,” Harry breathed.

“I had won that night, which means…”

“You can ask for anything you want,” Harry said breathless.

“My wish is simple.” Snape murmured with a sensual, deep voice. Warm air, tasting of peppermint hit Harry’s nose. Blind, he relied on his senses to drive him to the right place. His mouth touched the back of his own thumbs that were still on Snape’s lips. He moved them out of the way as Snape finally said, “I want to fly with you.”

“Yes,” Harry sighed, then leaned in to kiss Snape.

He felt the pressure on his heart and Snape’s whispered reassurance of “I’ll be right behind you,” then he was pushed over the railing.

There was something liberating in all of it. He could not lie to himself about it anymore, not after all this. He wanted it – the kiss, Snape, every touch. This revelation was more terrifying than anything he had ever faced before, but at the same time it was stronger too, more passionate. It was scorching him from the inside out as if it would be lava in his veins instead of blood.

He remembered Ginny and the summer evening at the Burrow, the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips, the curves of her body. He had thought he had found happiness there, but how wrong he was. This was it, this moment of pure bliss, this single moment of elation suspended in time as his body slowly toppled over the iron railing.

His eyes opened for a moment and he saw a glimpse of Snape leaning over the railing with a satisfied smile, looking after him. The wind tore into his long ebony hair. Fire glinted in his eyes, devastating and all-consuming.

This is what he wanted all along, what he needed. Not a normal life but someone who made him feel alive. Someone who was not satisfied with who he always thought he was, but would push him, challenge him until he found out who was the real person behind the saviour’s mask.

There was a smile on his face as he turned around in the air. The gravity was pulling him in, but he was thrilled, all but ecstatic. The wind whistled in his ears as he plummeted towards the ground, and he never felt freer in his life.

He opened his arms but instead of limbs, there were great wings on either side of him and as he spread them as wide as he could, the force of his fall gave him a great thrust upwards and the next moment he was flying between towers and gargoyles. He was sailing over the winds caught beneath his wings, and he was not alone.

Feathers iridescent blue even by the light of the moon, Snape swept by, nothing more than a shimmering shadow on the sky. He drifted in front of Harry and shrieked, trying to steer him back towards the castle, but Harry hooted and ignored him.

Instead, he lifted his head and climbed the air, straight like an arrow. When he judged the altitude high enough, he folded his wings and let himself fall back once again. That moment of nothingness was there again, the split second of hovering weightlessly, thrilling and blissful.

Then he was soaring through the sky again, another white spot on the night sky, a shooting star. His wings folded out like sails only a couple feet over the snowy ground and he glided with an elegant curve over the pristine whiteness. 

Snape joined him once again, glimmering like blue moonstone as he glided in front of him. Harry caught up with a couple beat of his wings. His far greater shadow below them consumed Snape’s smaller shape and for a moment they seemed to have been flying over the grounds of Hogwarts as one.

Snape turned and so did Harry. They moved in seamless harmony, close enough that the tips of their wings almost touched. They flew back toward the Astronomy Tower. It was perfect and Harry felt high. He was so hyped he was sure he would never fall asleep tonight.

Snape was the first to touch ground and turn back to a human. Harry glided one last circle around the tower then slipped in over the railing. Snape stood there in the middle and Harry lifted his head, wings spread out to slow himself down just enough. If he had stayed as a bird, he could have landed perfectly in front of Snape. But he didn’t want that.

He turned in the air and his speed swept him forward. He crushed against Snape and they almost fell back. As they struggled to keep standing, Harry laughed, while he held on to the man. Adrenalin, high in his veins, made him reckless. Snape steadied them, but Harry was still clinging to his black robes. He could not stop laughing. His head dropped onto Snape’s shoulder.

It took him a moment to realize the closeness, the scent in his nose. He wasn’t laughing anymore. His hands slid on Snape’s chest. He looked up. Intense black eyes caught his as Harry’s finger slipped inside Snape’s robes.

The next moment, iron grip held Harry in place, but he just smirked. He already got what he was looking for.

“What do you think you are doing, Potter?” Snape hissed.

Harry lifted his other hand surrendering and Snape let him pull his hand back. With it came the silver case as well.

Snape rolled his eyes. “If I were not aware how ineffective it is on a wizard, I would say you got addicted.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow and smirked. He fished out a cigarette from the case then sunk the rest into his back pocket. He leaned closer to Snape. It wasn’t the cigarette he was addicted to.

“Light me up?” He asked.

Snape shook his head, but only huffed at Harry’s cheekiness. “With pleasure,” he said resignedly then snapped his fingers. Harry bent over his flaming thumb and lit the cigarette.

“This was insanely good,” he said, exhaling smoke. “Thanks, Snape.”

Snape regarded him for a long moment, his eyes taking in every inch of Harry’s face. One corner of his mouth lifted into a smile, small but genuine, as he said. “You’ve done well, Potter.”

He reached out to ruffle Harry’s hair, just a simple gesture of approval, but Harry moved out of the way. It still reminded him of Sirius and he never wanted Snape to remind him of his godfather ever. Snape meant something else, something entirely different to Harry.

Snape pulled back his hand immediately and the light, pleasant atmosphere between them was gone, so was Snape’s smile.

“Apologies,” he said quickly, stepping away from Harry.

“No, it’s…” Harry started but Snape cut in.

“You should go back to your Common Room.” Snape said not quiet coldly but with a distant, reserved tone.

Harry took a small puff of the cigarette and tried to touch Snape, but the man didn’t let him. “Listen, that’s not-“

“You should go,” Snape repeated. “Now.”

Harry nodded, then took a hesitant step towards the stairs. Snape refused to look at him and something cracked inside him. He turned around and stepped up to Snape.

“Every time you do that, it makes me feel like a child. I’m not a child anymore, Snape,” he stated.

Snape frowned and stepped back. “You’re not a child, Potter, we both know that. You grew up a long time ago, probably right here where we stand now.”

Harry all but saw the shadow of the flash of green in the black eyes. He never wanted to remind Snape of that night.

“Look, I’m sorry…” He said gently.

He flicked the ash of the cigarette and held it out to Snape. “Let’s live in the present, hm?” He said as a peace offering.

Snape huffed but it seemed he did not want to stay in the past either, because he took it. He breathed in a lungful then leaned over the railing as the smoke slowly slithered out of his nose.

Harry watched him fascinated as second by second the blue light started glowing around him. It became stronger and stronger until it was pulsing, waving, shimmering.

Snape looked down at his slightly shaking hands as he murmured, “Shit…”

Harry leaned against the railing, pressing his shoulder against Snape’s. They both watched silently as Harry’s fingers drifted over Snape’s wrist and slithered up on his palm. The cigarette fell from Snape’s hold, glowing red embers glided with the wind.

“You shouldn’t…” Snape said but Harry interlaced their fingers anyway.

He wasn’t ready for the immediate flow of the magic. It was so wild, exciting, exhilarating just like falling had been. He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t having an orgasm. He gripped the railing, knuckles going white from the brutal force of his grasp. His mind had been already high on emotions, adrenalin was cursing in his veins, but this was something entirely different.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry grunted, pressing his body against the iron and throwing his head back in one moment then bending over himself and biting down on his own arm the next, not to cry out in ecstasy.

“What the… _ahh_ …” Harry moaned, breathless. What the hell was this, so unlike their previous encounters, uplifting, as far from pain as it could be yet still an anguish. He was _so_ close. Almost there. Almost at the peak, just a second more and his body would feel that single moment of weightlessness again.

“Potter,” Snape grunted trying to shake Harry’s hand. “Let me go! It’s hurting you.”

“Fuck no,” Harry managed to press out between tightly pressed lips. _Never_ , he added, hoping it wasn’t aloud. He held on to Snape with his other hand as well, pressed his face against the professor’s arm. It was so intense. It was amazing. He wanted to come so bad. His body was climbing, higher and higher, soaring up into the sky.

Then it all stopped as suddenly as it started. There was no weightlessness, no falling, no nothing. He was just standing back on the ground. The blue shimmer was gone, and Snape was staring at him with an unguarded expression of worry, fear, pain.

“Snape, it’s-” Harry tried to reassure him but the next moment a hand was on his nape and Snape pulled him into a firm embrace.

Strong arms held him, and Snape asked in a weak, urging voice, “Are you all right?” He sounded so concerned.

_All right_? The words just rang in Harry’s mind like an echo. How could he be _all right_ when Snape was so close to him? How could anything be _all right_ when all he wanted to do was to push closer to Snape, press his erection against the man and beg him to make it all go away. When would this ever be _all right_?

Harry couldn’t say a word. What would he say? A lie? He buried his face in Snape’s neck, breathed in his scent. It was anything but helpful. It was damning at best. Knees buckling, legs shaking, he staggered back until his waist hit the railing. He kept pulling Snape though, closer, _closer_.

Firm body pressed against him. Harry wondered whether Snape could feel the hardness against his thigh, know what it was, want to deal with it one way or another.

His hands clasped into Snape’s robes and long hair. He wanted to press, pull, he wanted to feel pressure, friction, anything.

“Potter,” Snape warned. His voice had changed. Gone was the fear, the worry, the concern. It was low, almost threatening, to Harry’s ears a borderline promise.

“It’s all right,” Harry said at last.

“You should go,” Snape advised. “You should go before I do something we will certainly regret later on.” Regardless of his words, his arms remained around Harry, fingers fisted in Harry’s shirt.

“What?” Harry chuckled. “Poison me? Push me off a tower? Cut my throat? Do you really want to get rid of me so bad?”

Snape shook his head, but whispered, “Yes.” He sighed deeply. His arms loosened around Harry and Harry let the man pull away. “For both of our sakes.”

Harry doubted that to be true, doubted anything could be as dreadful as letting Snape go now, but even he understood this wasn’t quite right. It was, in fact, highly unacceptable.

“Here,” Harry said and fished out the silver cigarette case from his back pocket.

Snape watched the case for a long moment then shook his head lightly. “You can keep it. I have another.”

Harry still tossed it at Snape. “I don’t need it.” He grabbed the railing and sat up on it. “It doesn’t taste as good on my own.”

He let go of the iron and leaned back. He let the abyss pull his body down.


	18. The Scent of Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Though the comment was on another site, I still believe the message is an important one._
> 
> _Dearest hunnybunny92: Since you have left your comment without signing in, I must answer openly, because hard as I tried I cannot leave your feedback without a response. You touched a nerve, you see, and since there might be others out there thinking like you do, I guess I can't just walk away._
> 
> _You said "Harry 'dumps' Ginny for no particularly good reason". Apparently, not loving someone is not good enough of a reason for you then. This is a huge pet peeve of mine, actually: people being with someone they dont love just because. Just because there's no one better, just because breaking up wouldnt make much sense, just because it is cozy in this relationship and i'd rather be here with someone i dont love, than out there alone._
> 
> _I've seen friends silently suffer next to their partner because breaking up wasn't a option. Society and their own insecurities made them feel stuck, unable to leave the person, because family and friends expected them to stay together, because nothing was actually bad and they were okay. Okay, but not good. Okay, but not in love. And see that's the problem. We're compelled to be in a relationship out of fear of being judged by others, stay with people we might not even like just because breaking up is a stigma, just how a divorce is shameful, makes you branded, makes you into something of a used, damaged good._
> 
> _People go from relationship to relationship without spending a month alone because they are terrified of being by themselves. Their happiness is dependent on an other person, their self-worth is defined by whether or not they have a partner. Children from a unhealthy young age enter into relationship searching for something they dont even understand yet, because that's what they see, because society though them that if you dont have a partner you are nothing, you are worthless, it means you are not good enough for anyone. This kind of thinking (among many other things) leads to people rather tolerating a shitty, abusive partner than being alone. This attitude is what fucks up people's self image, because if they are not in a relationship it must mean they are ugly and worthless and something must be wrong with them._
> 
> _So if you still dont get it, let me spell it out for you. Harry and Ginny broke up, because Harry was not in love with her. He was with her because people closest to them expected them to be together, to end up marrying, to have a family and harry thought that if everyone wants that it must be what he, too wants. but it's not. This is not lazy writing. This whole fucking story with it's 170.000 words is trying to tell you one thing: to think for yourself. it needs to be YOU who decides what's good for you and not society and friends and family. You are the only one who knows what or who makes you happy and you deserve to be happy in these couple of fucked up decades we spend withering away on this planet._
> 
> _You, dear hunnybunny92, also said you "would go for Bonnie Wright's Ginny over Alan Rickman's Snape" and, in all honestly, I dont understand how that's relevant to this (snarry) story, but I guess good for you. I myself prefer Emma Watson to Bonnie, but would have gone for Alan Rickman over pretty much anyone on this planet, but hey, whatever floats your boat, as they say._
> 
> _Anyway, your weekly sociological discourse is over, apologies to all the other Lovelies._
> 
> _I guess this chapter is, among many things, a quick reminder that this is an explicit story. Though given the many lovely comments, I doubt anyone forgot that ;)_

## XVIII: The Scent of Desire

 

The Common Room was fairly empty when Harry got back. A couple of fifth-years were sitting around a pile of books in one corner, while Ron was lying across the soft couch near the fire. Crookshanks was lazing curled up on his lap, while Ron was reading the Quibbler.

Harry walked there and dropped down onto the other couch, lying back.

“You’ve been with Snape again?”

“How did you know?” He asked Ron.

“You always look shaken after it,” said Ron. He watched Harry for a long second, then quietly added, “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Harry sat up right away. “Wha-what do you mean?” He murmured, pulling his cloak over his lap.

“Fighting him,” Ron elaborated and finally Harry dared take a breath again. “It’s still tough on you, isn’t it? We thought it would be easier with time and practice.”

“Oh, that.” Harry sighed, then lay back down, making sure to cover his groin, just to be sure. “No, it’s actually a lot better.”

“Is it?” Ron asked, doubtful.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. “We barely even fight anymore.”

“Then what do you do?”

Harry shrugged, then looked up at Ron. “All kinds of stuff. Tonight, he pushed me off the Astronomy Tower.”

Ron sat up straight right away. “He did _what_?” He cried. Poor Crookshanks was almost thrown off him and now had to find a new, less fidgety spot to sleep on peacefully.

Harry laughed as he watched his friend’s bewildered expression, then told him about his third flying lesson.

“That’s insane,” Ron groaned. “Wicked, but insane.”

“Yeah, it was.” Harry agreed, then added quietly, “It was very intense.”

“I bet,” Ron said with a grin. “So now you can fly? Like properly.”

Harry shrugged. “I reckon he’ll still have weird lessons he wants to teach me, but yeah, I can.”

“That’s really cool, Harry. Seriously. At first, I didn’t get why you would help him, but I guess it’s all worth it now.”

Harry sat up and looked at Ron, contemplating whether to say what was on his mind or not. In the end, he decided, what the hell. “It would have been worth helping him even if he weren’t teaching me Animagic.”

Ron looked around, checking if anyone was close by. “You looked very… friendly the other day. When we were in the Forest.” Ron said quietly. There was no question.

“I guess you could call it that.” Harry answered with a shrug. “You can never tell what’s going on his mind.”

Ron laughed out suddenly. “I don’t know, Harry. Sometimes he seems pretty obvious.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked but Ron just shook his head.

“Never mind,” he grinned. “But it’s a good question isn’t it, what Ginny said the other day. Why did he come to you? Why not fight the other professors all at once? Do you know?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “I never really asked. I know McGonagall wasn’t enough on her own, but he never said anything about fighting more of them.”

Ron stayed quiet, but Harry couldn’t stop thinking about this now. The professors all together should be enough to fight Snape and calm him. Harry had only seen McGonagall attempt it once, right after the Sorting Ceremony. Understandably, they could not get the whole staff out of the Main Hall then to duel Snape, but did they try it later? Snape had not called on him during all of September. Was it because others tried or as Harry assumed so far, because there were no incidents?

“Maybe he’s after you,” Ron grinned, his tone sinister. “Maybe he still haven’t forgiven you when you called him a coward, or some other stuff.”

“You’re not serious, right?” Harry asked back, grinning, too.

“You know me, Harry, I’m always serious,” Ron chuckled, then yawned. “Anyway, I’m off to bed. You coming?”

Harry stared into the fire for another minute, then nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a long day.”

The questions did not let Harry sleep that night. He had twisted and turned in bed, thinking. He had believed from the beginning that he was the only one who could help Snape, that the man needed him, but what if it was all about something else? Could Snape still harbour some sort of enmity towards him, could it be that he actually wanted to hurt Harry and that was the reason why _they_ had to fight? Could it be the professor had an ulterior motive with all this?

The idea made his stomach churn and Harry turned to his side under his blanket. It hurt to think that duelling him, injuring him wasn’t just a necessity, what Harry could easily forgive, but a need for Snape.

But then he suddenly remembered Snape’s boggart and once again, it all made no sense in his head. Snape was willing to give up his magic forever to avoid hurting Harry. How many times did Snape beg him to leave, order him to get away, even after they had stopped duelling? He could easily recall the worry in the man’s eyes every time Snape thought he had hurt Harry. It made no sense, Snape wouldn’t risk Harry’s life if there was another choice.

He should ask Snape when he had the chance.

Harry boxed into his pillow in frustration and turned on his other side. He listened to Ron’s snoring, trying to clear his mind so he could finally go to sleep, but it didn’t help. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that boggart, heard his own judging words. If Snape did choose him over duelling fifteen other wizards, he had created a personal hell for himself. Why would he do that? Why?

Harry sighed frustrated, then kicked the blanket off himself. He closed his eyes regarding once more what a bad idea this was, then jumped out of the bed and went out the dormitory. He ran down the stairs and passed through the empty Common Room. The last lights of the orange embers gave him enough to see where to step. Then he climbed out of the portrait hole.

The Fat Lady shouted after him to not be out this late, but Harry ignored her. It was late enough that he hoped no one would be out, not even teachers on patrol. The cool air in the corridors and the icy stone beneath his feet quickly got to him and he almost turned back to get his shoes and maybe even his invisibility cloak. This was a stupid idea and it was even stupider not to turn back. Snape might not even be in his study, even worse, he might actually be there and sure as hell he would shout Harry’s head off for being out this late.

He told the gargoyle the password, but it must have been half asleep. Harry was jumping from one foot to the other in one place while he had waited an eternity for the statue to move. He took the stairs two at a time as he ran up, and once again turned the doorknob without knocking. He was about to apologise for that, but his motions halted the moment he stepped inside the study.

Snape was there. He was sitting behind his desk; his hands were resting in his lap, his head was slightly turned, his eyes closed. He was sleeping. The tranquil expression on his face was almost mesmerising.

“Please do not wake him, Harry,” said a quiet voice above him. Harry instantly recognised it was Dumbledore. Twinkling blue eyes watched him as the professor explained in a soft tone, “It is so rare he is allowed some peaceful rest.”

Harry nodded wordlessly, then turned to walk out. He looked back over his shoulder taking one last glance at Snape.

He looked so relaxed now. Almost like a different person.

Harry closed the door quietly and pulled out his wand from the pocket of his pyjamas. He brandished it and his red, Gryffindor blanket appeared out of thin air. He quietly walked over to Snape and covered the man. It showed how deeply he was sleeping that Snape didn’t open his eyes, did not even stir at all as Harry tucked him in.

He should leave now, Harry thought, but instead of the door his legs took him to the chair on the other side of Snape’s desk. He sat down, knowing this was not right. He should not be here. Not after all what happened in the Astronomy Tower. The reason of his visit was all but forgotten.

He could not take his eyes off Snape. Harry had seen him like this during the summer, but he had never noticed how different Snape looked when asleep. His frown was gone, his forehead was without wrinkles of worry, his whole posture was casual. His breathing even, his lips slightly parted as he exhaled – _one… two… three… four_ – and inhaled again. He looked so relaxed it made Harry smile.

He watched him for a while, then his eyes started closing. He was about to stand up and leave, he commanded his legs to move, but they did not listen. Harry was fast asleep already.

He did not dream, at least the vivid images stayed away, yet he did see something in the vast darkness of his slumbering mind. A faint blueish-turquoise light pulsed calmly in front of him. It wasn’t even pulsing, it was waving with the same rhythm as Snape’s breathing. The magic rested within Snape, relaxed and calm as it should be. It wasn’t a bubble this time, just human shaped, exactly like Snape. It was beautiful.

Snape fidgeted in his sleep, and his head rolled from one side to the other. Harry only saw the magic move, but he was certain this was what was happening in reality. How he could know that, _see_ that, when he was asleep was beyond him. Was this just another dream?

Minutes or hours later, Snape moved again and in the vast darkness, seeing nothing but the blue gleam, Harry was aware that the professor had just opened his eyes and noticed him. His magic pulsed once, like when the shock of surprise hits one’s heart, then the serene waving became stronger and stronger like the ocean at tide.

Its clean shape distorted and Harry almost smiled, recognizing what was happening.

He was still half asleep, eyes closed not wanting to wake up, as he reached his hand forward.

“You’re glowing again,” he said in a rough, sleepy voice.

There was a second of hesitation, then Snape took his offered hand. The moment their skin touched Harry could feel the magic flow through him like a river. He sighed satisfied. This time it was mellow and serene, like the sea at night.

“What do you feel?” Snape asked after a while, still hoarse from his little nap.

“Not pain,” Harry mumbled.

Snape went back to work, but he didn’t let go of Harry even after his magic receded. The sound of a quill softly scraping parchment filled the room and soon Harry was back to being asleep. The thumb gently stroking his wrist could have been only a dream. So could the arms that lifted him and lied him down somewhere and the fingers that brushed through his hair. And so could be the voice that whispered, “Good night,” to him.

o.O.o

When Harry woke up the next morning, he couldn’t recognize the room he was in, but had a strong suspicion it was Snape’s bedroom – which was an insane thought to start the day with. He found his glasses on the nightstand and put them on to look around more carefully.

He saw white walls and dark wood, much like in the study. A fireplace was in front of the bed, tapestry of a woodland landscape was above the mantel. A wardrobe and a dresser stood on one side, next to them a door to the bathroom and a glass door that led to the balcony. On the other side of the room, a smaller living room was arranged with a couch, a glass table and many bookcases along the wall. A secret door was left slightly ajar, so Harry would find his way out.

It wasn’t anything special, except it had Snape’s stuff all around. Mostly books and magazines laid scattered around everywhere, opened, with another tome on top as a bookmark, or stacked up on each other. Snape’s black robe was thrown onto the back of the couch, a white shirt was on the other side of the bed, a glass with a bit of the liquid still in it was left on the table, the astray full off cigarette stubs next to it.

It wasn’t messy, only lived in. Harry stood up and walked around, peering into books about potions, wizarding law, spells, even _Hogwarts, A History_ laid there on the couch. He smelled into the glass to find out it was the whiskey Snape usually drank. The stone balcony outside was small, only enough for two people to stand and watch the view, which was beautiful though. He took a quick look at the bathroom but found nothing special about it. The air felt still mildly humid, meaning Snape had a shower not long ago.

That thought made him look at Snape’s scattered clothes again. He walked to the end of the bed and lifted the white shirt. It wasn’t warm anymore, but it was wrinkled enough that Harry knew Snape was wearing this yesterday. Did he take it off here at the end of the bed how he probably usually did, even though Harry was sleeping only a couple feet away from him?

Harry continued to wander around looking at things, still carrying the shirt. He knew he was postponing the inevitable, but he tried to resist. In the end, he sat down on the other side of the bed, which seemed unused, meaning Snape didn’t spend the night here with him. It was a strange relief and a disappointment also. Did Snape not sleep at all last night? Did he just stay on the couch?

He watched the shirt in his hand. His hand holding it rose involuntarily, but he fell back on the bed. He was strong, he would not do this.

His shirt rode up on his belly slightly revealing an inch of bare skin and Snape’s shirt was touching it. It was nice. He shifted slightly to expose more skin. The shirt was soft against his stomach. He let out a frustrated groan, feeling betrayed by his own body. He chucked the shirt aside and watched it smack against his pillow.

He reached to pull his shirt down, but when he touched his own skin, his mind seemed to have forgotten what it wanted there in the first place. He caressed lazily that stripe of bare skin around his bellybutton. His pinkie slid under his pyjama bottoms, then his ring finger and middle finger followed along too.

He pulled his hand back and scooting a bit further up, rolled on his belly. He couldn’t do this here. He couldn’t do this anywhere to be frank, but he especially could not do this right now, right here. Snape was just on the other side of that slightly ajar door, he could walk in here any moment.

He pressed his face into the covers and wanted to scream. He ended up only grunting as he rolled his hips.

“Shit,” he mumbled and rolled around again.

This was agony. Pure agony. He arched his back and reached over his head to grab the shirt again.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. He couldn’t be such an idiot.

He lifted the shirt to his nose.

This wasn’t real. It must have been just a dream.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent. He pressed the shirt firmly against his nose and inhaled again. Snape’s scent was so clear on the shirt. Fresh, rainy, electric. Harry wanted to taste it. His mouth opened against the fabric and he breathed in deeply again.

“Oh god…” he moaned as his right hand went to rub his cock. He touched himself over his pants, telling himself it was enough. He wasn’t hard yet, he could turn back. This was enough.

It wasn’t. He inhaled the maddening scent again, pressing his hand firmly down. He might not be hard yet, but he could be in a matter of minutes if he continued this. His hips lifted, a part of his brain suggesting he _should_ continue this.

He forced his hands away from his body, made them fall back onto the bed. He lay there spread out, as if waiting for someone, but he kept telling himself, he was just waiting for his heartbeat to calm down.

This wasn’t right. It was _good_ , but it wasn’t _right_ , and Harry knew the difference between the two. His fingers flexed around the shirt. He closed his eyes firmly to help resist smelling Snape’ shirt again. Instead he rolled around and buried his whole face in it, while his hips ground down against the cover.

He bit into his fisted hand – that it was covered with the shirt was pure accident, he told himself. It wasn’t like he imagined biting someone else through his own shirt, someone who smelled of fresh rain on a summer day and electricity.

“No,” he groaned. “No-no-no-no.” He chanted and twisted onto his back again.

He could not do this. He took deep breaths, far from the shirt, to clean his mind. He looked around hoping for something to distract him. His eyes found the slightly ajar door. Snape could walk through that any second now to wake Harry up. That thought made the opposite of calming him down. He was half hard in a minute.

Harry chuckled slightly, another sign of his madness surely, and he rubbed his cock over his pyjamas until he was fully erect. He laughed, though he wanted to scream. He also considered walking out to Snape like this – hard cock jutting out of his pants with Snape’s shirt in his hand – just to see the man’s reaction.

Instead, he just pulled his shirt over his head to not get in the way and started caressing himself with the shirt. He would use the sleeve to draw long lines up on his torso or cover his hand with the soft fabric and stroke himself like that. His nipple was covered with the material when he tweaked it, yet his breathing hitched. Why was this so good?

His cock was straining against his pants, but it was all right. It was all good, as long as he didn’t touch himself.

The next moment, his hand was on his cock and it was even more all right. Morally devastating, but any other way it was more than all right, it was exquisite. His hand moved up on the rigid shaft in one firm motion. Wetness darkened his grey pyjama as the tip pressed against the thin cotton.

Harry moaned but stuffed the shirt in his mouth. It didn’t help, just made him want to moan even more, but at least he was slightly silenced by it. His brain connected the scent in his nose and the hand on his prick and his hips jerked up. He pushed up in his fisted hand, the head of his cock slipping through the tight ring of his finger.

He rolled back on his belly, pushing down his pants. He gripped a pillow and shoved it beneath his body right between his cock and the bed.

Snape’s head would rest on that, the thought occurred, and Harry fell down on the bed.

“I’m such a bloody idiot,” he mumbled against the cover, fingers gripping into shirt and sheet. He rolled his hips again and again. His own body pressed his erection against the pillow and the friction was mind-blowing. He ground down like he would to another body. He buried his nose in the scent of the shirt and left behind his shame.

After all, this wasn’t reality, it was a dream – a wicked, too real, delicious dream. He pushed himself up on his hands. He looked down on his body and watched himself as he thrust forward, his cock sliding over the pillow smearing precome all over it. “Oh shit…” he moaned and did it again. He moved slow but firm, pressing down hard but his motions remained languid.

He could barely see only the tip of his hard cock rubbing against the pillowcase, the rest of his shaft was hidden by his own body. But the soft head was red and swollen and it glistened wetly already. He didn’t want to touch himself, not yet.

He looked up and checked the door. It was still slightly ajar, untouched. No one was around not a soul, just the birds outside on the balcony.

He sat up and straddled the pillow. He all but hugged Snape’s shirt to his chest, as if he could hold the man himself. He jerked forward, shifted against the pillow, humping it with absolute pleasure. His hips rolled back and forth, slowly at first then faster and faster until he was all but fucking the cushion.

He straightened up, but grabbed into the pillow, his thighs holding it in a firm grip as well. He was thrusting up, the pillow pressed against his abdomen so he could feel the friction even more intensely. With the shirt still at his nose, his mind didn’t let him forget for even a moment, who he was thinking of.

He could feel the warmth of the lean body he was sliding against, almost feel the hard erection press against his belly. It was just the seam of the pillow, but if this wasn’t real, it could have been Snape, too. His scent was there after all, everywhere in the room, clinging to the sheets, to the pillow Harry was grinding against.

He slid against the pillow with prolonged thrusts, his body waved as his hips rolled forward and back. Harry moaned against the fabric of the shirt, hopeful that he wasn’t loud enough for Snape to hear. There was of course a small part of his brain that wanted the man to walk in on him like this, to see him clutching the shirt like a lifeline, when it was only a rope to damnation and hell.

When he almost came, he stopped and slowed down. The pillow was sticky and wet with precome. He slid his palm over his cock, pressing it down against the fabric. His hips rolled on their own accord. He thrust between his hand and the pillow for a while, slowly and carefully not to make himself come yet.

This was insane, he should hurry, not linger when any moment Snape could walk in. Yet he wanted to take his time. He would not have a chance like this ever again.

He lost his dignity some time ago when he started all this, so he reached for one of the sleeves shamelessly. He felt so hot, burning almost, as he wrapped it around his cock and jerked himself like that for a while. Then he rolled up the sleeve slightly and pushed into the hole while his hand gripped down on the fabric and his firm erection.

The next moment the shirt was back at his mouth silencing his desperate cries as he came hard on the pillow and his own belly. Snape’s scent was mixed with his own heady scent and if anything, it became even more arousing. Harry fell back on the bed, cock twitching.

He hugged the shirt to himself and wiped the spunk off his belly with a sleeve, then looked around, still breathing hard. He was alone, thankfully. He had finally reached the height he had aimed last evening.

He considered a shower first, given he was still tacky and sweaty, but decided he better clean the room first. He grabbed his wand from the nightstand and cast some cleaning spells on the bed.

He wasn’t sure if it was shame, guilt or disgust he felt, but he suspected it was a mix of all three. He made sure he cleared away all the evidence from the pillow then went and had a quick shower.

It was a hurricane of emotions and thoughts in his head, but at least one revelation came from all this. Snape’s scent wasn’t a mystery anymore, it was just his soap. Bathing with it almost made Harry hard again.

He dressed quickly into his pyjamas then took a deep breath. It was time to face Snape.


	19. Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If I would ever write (I won't) this story from Snape's POV, it would be entirely just to tell what he was doing during the night Harry was sleeping in his bed. Because I see it so clearly in my mind how he carried Harry and laid him down, covered him with a blanket, but then was unable to move away; how his eyes were glued to the young body, how he drank in the lovely sight of Potter sleeping in his bed - at last; how he walked up and down the room running his hand through his hair agitated, until he finally sat down on his couch and smoked cig after cig, hoping it will calm him, quiet this burning in his body; how he tossed back glasses of whiskey, one after the other praying he could manage to stay sane and decent during the rest of the night, but with every tick of the clock his resolve would crumble more and more, his hand would start to itch, his legs jerk wanting to move just a step closer to that bed, just an inch, just a little bit more, until he would realize he was standing over Potter again, caressing his ink black hair._
> 
> _I can see how he stands at the edge of the bed, undressing himself, at first thinking he will go lie down next to the boy, he is strong enough and he can behave himself only to realize he's far too deep in this and would he lie next to Potter, he woke the boy with kisses. So instead of the bed, he goes to the bathroom, and only a hand he imagines belongs to someone else moving on his hardness is enough to sober him enough to hold on till the morning..._

## XIX: Clarity 

 

He walked to the door then looked back at the room. It wasn’t to commit it to memory, he swore to himself, but to check if he left anything behind – beyond his dignity, that was. He shook his head and walked out.

Snape was sitting at his desk, where else would he be. Harry’s red and yellow blanket with the Gryffindor lion in the middle was wrapped around his shoulder against the cool morning air that came in through the open window.

Harry was standing behind him, but he could still tell that Snape noticed his arrival, because his shoulders tensed, and he stopped writing.

“Hi,” Harry said simply. He doubted he could say anything else, given the huge lump in his throat.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, his tone casual. “Slept well?”

There was a light teasing undertone to his voice, and Harry swallowed. Luckily the knot seemed to disappear from his oesophagus, too. He even risked a smile and walked next to Snape.

“Yeah. And you?”

Snape gave him a look. He was tired, that was clear.

“You didn’t sleep at all?” Harry asked as he sat up onto the desk.

Snape eyed his legs for a moment and Harry was sure he would push him off, but Snape didn’t touch him in the end, just leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Where? My bed was taken.” He was almost smirking.

“I’m sorry,” should have been what came out of Harry’s mouth next. Instead he said, “There was plenty of space next to me.” _On me_ , he added mentally.

Snape’s expression darkened and Harry wanted to take back his words right away. He meant them as a joke and only that, he really did.

“You should leave,” Snape said quietly. “Breakfast is almost over.”

Harry shook his head, “I’m not hungry.” He nudged Snape’s leg with his bare foot gently. “Aren’t you curious why I came here last night?”

Snape watched their legs still touching, as he answered, “I am not sure that is something I should hear.”

“I heard something that made me wonder.” Harry looked at Snape and waited until black eyes looked back at him. “Why can’t you fight all the professors together? Why did you choose to fight only me?”

Snape sighed, and Harry had the sudden realization that the professor had been waiting for this question for a while.

“Because their magic is practically ineffective against this.” Snape said softly. “And it wasn’t me. I wasn’t the one who chose you over the others, Potter. It was _you_ who chose _me_ over everyone else.”

Harry looked at him frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“Back in May, when we restored the school’s magic, you were the one who did not join the outer circle. Instead you stood beside me in the middle. Your magic, just like mine helped restore Hogwarts. I did not choose you. _You_ chose me.”

Harry watched him, comprehension slowly dawning on him. “The excessive magic Hogwarts had given back to you…” He said, eyes widening. “It was mine… this is all my fault!”

He moved away from Snape as if even his presence would hurt the professor. _Oh god_ , this was all because of him. Snape had to face his greatest fear week after week just because Harry stood at the wrong place that morning.

He watched Snape with apprehension, backing away from him. How long had he known? Why was he so calm, when he had all right to shout and scream at Harry for putting him through hell. His back hit the wall and Snape stood up, the blanket falling onto the chair.

He walked slowly closer. He wasn’t glowing, there was no hint of his blue magic, but there was something Harry found almost threatening in his slow motions, something predatory.

“It is not my magic that is unstable, but yours. It is too wild and it resists me. That’s why I need to fight with _you_ , that’s why _your touch_ is enough to calm it.” He explained in a soft tone. He towered over Harry and he felt himself shrink back. He deserved Snape’s wrath.

“It wasn’t your fault, Potter.” Snape said then calmly.  “It was magic far beyond our comprehension. Intuitive magic is hard to understand, and this was a spell older than all of us together.”

Harry felt taken aback. Not his fault? This wasn’t a response he expected from Snape. “Intuitive magic?” He asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Magic usually comes from here,” Snape said tapping Harry’s forehead with his middle finger. “Intuitive magic is something you make _here_.” He placed his hand over Harry’s heart. “None of us knew what to do, but whatever we did was the right course of action. It wasn’t your fault. Without you, Hogwarts would have probably drained me of all my magic.”

Snape pulled back his hand from Harry’s chest, but Harry grasped it in the air. He looked up into obsidian eyes. He found no aversion there.

Harry entwined their fingers as he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

Snape watched him for a moment, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Don’t be, you fool,” he sighed then pulled Harry to his chest. “It happened how it was meant to be.” He whispered into Harry’s hair as he held him close.

Harry clung to him, his fingers grasping Snape’s hand so firm, he was almost afraid he would hurt him, but he did not let go. He realized that Snape’s arm around him was a lot more satisfying than any pillow.

The moment passed however, and Snape did not let him linger anymore. The professor cleared his throat as he moved away and sat behind his desk.

“Return to your dormitory, Potter. Your lessons will start soon and you’re still unpresentable.”

Harry looked down on himself. Barefoot and in pyjamas, he hardly wanted to walk the corridors. “Do you mind if I use your balcony?”

Snape looked up in surprise but then his eyes shifted over Harry and he nodded. “Suit yourself.”

Harry walked to the door, but as he passed Snape, he stopped by the chair. He placed his hand on Snape’s shoulder and gave it a firm grasp. “See you next Sunday… unless you need me before,” he said, then moved on.

“No,” Snape said behind him and Harry twirled around.

Snape did not look back. His eyes were on the parchment before him as he said quietly, “Your Animagic lessons have ended yesterday, Mr. Potter.”

“What?” Harry asked incredulous. Was this about the embrace afterwards? Did he go too far and was this Snape’s punishment?

“You do not need me anymore.”

“Of course, I do,” Harry said hurriedly, maybe too fast even.

Chair scraping the floor, Snape stood and glared at him. “I taught you all I know,” he said sternly. “Go now.”

Harry backed away from him. This couldn’t be. He didn’t want this. Yet he ran. He ran through Snape’s room and burst through the glass door. He didn’t hesitate to jump over the railing. Something was burning deep inside him, something bitter that he did not understand. His stomach riled and he could barely breathe. There was a knot in his throat, and he choked.

He turned into a bird and flew away towards the Gryffindor Tower. As he looked back, he saw a dark figure watching him from an open window.

o.O.o

Harry waited patiently. It took all his efforts, but he stayed away from Snape. It was better this way. What almost happened in the Astronomy tower and what he did in Snape’s room was wildly out of place. If this was Snape’s punishment, he deserved it. He had to distance himself, sort out his thoughts, erase every trace of those stormy emotions.

Whatever he wanted, it could not happen. He understood what was at risk. He knew the only allure it had was that it was forbidden and nothing else. It wasn’t like he was in love Snape, was it? He couldn’t be, that was nonsense. Snape was a bitter, old man. Why would Harry want to be with him when he had girls lined up now that he and Ginny had broken up.

Except, Snape wasn’t bitter. Sarcastic? Yes. Occasionally prickly? Absolutely. Stern? Like a hundred-year-old unyielding linden. But lately, he had even been… warm. Attentive. Patient. Funny, if he wanted to be. And he wasn’t old. Older than Harry for sure, but not _that_ old. Experienced, more like. Someone who had seen it all. He wasn’t naïve, or foolish and Harry liked that. Snape was grounded, but on occasion, when they stood so close, they breathed the same air, Snape was also willing to let go and fly.

It could also be just the magic. Harry had seen it now, the blue magic serenely waving inside Snape. It wasn’t just a dream, he was certain. He could see it. Maybe because it was a part of him in there, the same way Snape’s memories about Lily had been in Harry since the end of the war. It had become a part of him, the little girl, a long-lost friend.

Yet it felt like more; more than just magic and the enticing idea of the forbidden. Snape made him burn. He made Harry want to fall and fly, soar through the sky. He also made Harry want to stay on the ground, close to the tall, lean body, clinging to it, bathing in the scent of rain and electricity.

Time would help, he told himself as the days passed. The next Sunday rolled on without even a single scrap of note from Snape. It wasn’t unusual that he didn’t need Harry’s assistance, but this time the silence felt heavy and numbing, like a cloud of darkness above the castle that just kept threatening them with a downpour that never came.

Hours passed in silent waiting, hours that he used to spend in Snape’s company. Harry just watched the clock as seconds ticked by and the hands moved from one minute to the other. He could not concentrate on studying, even if he took his quill in hand, no word was formed in his mind. Even Ron, sitting beside him writing his Transfiguration homework seemed to be annoyed by his weary sighs, because he stood up and marched away.

Hermione looked up and leaned closer. “Are you all right, Harry?”

_All right_ , those two words again left Harry annoyed. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he answered a slightly more tetchy perhaps.

“You seem…” Hermione did not seem to know how to finish the sentence, so instead she said, “Harry is this about Ginny?”

Harry looked at her surprised. “Ginny?” He felt like laughing suddenly. Yes, that was what a normal person would do, wouldn’t it? Feeling heartbroken over his ex-girlfriend, not about his Headmaster he had _hugged_ like three times.

Hermione cleared her throat, then leaned even closer. “Or is this about someone else?”

Harry found it interesting that he did not even feel like he was caught red handed anymore. Hermione’s unsaid insinuation was almost a relief.

He smiled at her as he leaned back in the soft couch. “It was your idea, the book. Wasn’t it?” He asked.

“What book?” Hermione asked back. She had genuine confusion on her face, then she suddenly sat back.

Ron appeared, carrying a broom. “C’mon mate,” he said almost pulling Harry out of his seat. “We’re going flying.” He announced.

They walked through the corridors without a word. In fact, Ron didn’t say anything to him until they were in the Quidditch pitch. It had been such a long while, Harry realized, since they had flown together.

Ron put the broom between his legs then motioned for Harry.

“Change and let’s go. You lead, I follow you.”

“Ron,” Harry said, confused. “What’s this all about?”

“Just…” Ron shook his head resigned. “Let’s fly, okay, Harry?”

It didn’t feel like a casual Sunday evening practice. Ron was telling him to do it, not inviting him to join. But it was distraction and he was grateful for anything that allowed him not to think of Snape at the moment.

Harry shifted into his bird form and stood around on the snow for a moment. He looked up at Ron, apprehensively. He had never launched from the ground.

“You need help?” Ron offered, holding his arm out.

“No,” Harry hooted.

He opened his arms half way. Snape said he could do it. He was strong enough. Why was this suddenly as hard as jumping off the tower? Harry looked towards to castle, towards where he knew Snape’s balcony would be. He had to let go of the man. This wasn’t right. His freedom was not dependent on Snape.

He pushed himself away from the ground, wings flapping gracefully. He lifted higher and higher. Ron flew behind him on his broom, keeping pace easily.

“Is that all you can do, you git?” Ron asked laughing then zoomed past him.

Harry took up on the challenge and pushed himself to fly faster and faster. His eyes got accustoms to the night and he saw more sharply. He caught up with Ron but only because his friend let him. Ron might won a speed race, but Harry was better at grace and manoeuvring. He glided on the winds with eyes closed, letting the air drift him wherever it wanted.

He felt free up here; free of disapproving eyes, of his own wild thoughts, free from all that was not allowed, was not right.

He felt unrestrained. He could go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted. And yet, Snape’s magic lured him in like a bird’s call. Even with his eyes closed he knew exactly he was flying towards the man. He didn’t let himself. He folded his wings and plummeted towards the pitch.

It was enough to know that this was what he really wanted, to be certain there was no one else, no other could take _his_ place.

He let his instincts guide him as he fell, trusted his body to know what was best. All he had to do was to follow the winds.

“Harry!”

He heard Ron’s frightened cry, but he didn’t open his eyes. He revelled in the pull of gravity.

“Harry, pull up!”

Harry didn’t, not yet. He knew himself, he knew his powers, his needs, his wants. There was something liberating in not lying anymore, in embracing his emotions. It made him lighter. It made flying easier.

“ _Harry_!”

Not yet, Harry told himself, he could feel the air around him getting slightly warmer as he was getting closer to the ground. He could do this. He just had to trust himself. Adrenalin rushed in his ears, he heard nothing else just the thundering beat of his own heart.

He opened his wings and his eyes in the last moment. The ground was almost at his face, he could clearly take out the individual grass blades. Pressure built under his wings, his arms ached with stinging pain as he forced his body to slow down and glide over the grass, but he managed. His feet grazed the hard ground and drifted over the pitch like a victorious seeker who had caught the snitch.

Ron flew next to him and he motioned towards the stands. “Let’s talk,” he suggested with a smile, then flew away.

Harry followed him, then landed gently on the back of one of the seats. As he changed back, Ron set his broom carefully against the chairs. He plumped down on another and watched Harry.

“I wouldn’t mind having one of Snape’s cigs now,” he suggested. “You don’t happen to have one on you by chance, do you?”

Harry shook his head. “Bad luck, mate,” he said.

“Still not as bad as yours, I reckon,” Ron said with a raised eyebrow.

Harry sat down, too, but said nothing. He watched the night sky, the stars glinting far away. Ron leaned back, threw his arms over the back of the seat, put his legs onto the chair in front of him.

“So,” Ron prompted, and Harry’s eyes closed in expectation. There was a hint of anxiety, too, he had to admit. “What’s going on between you and Snape?”

To hear it said out loud finally, made Harry’s stomach ache with need. He wanted to say, “ _Everything,_ ” he wanted to say, “ _He pushed me down and I fell, I fell so hard, Ron._ ” But the truth was more complex than that.

“Nothing,” he said in the end with a sigh.

“Nothing, huh?” Ron asked back, not looking at Harry. “Is it the nothing you had with my sister this last year, or the nothing I’d had for Hermione for about four years before we finally hooked up?”

Harry chuckled for a second, then it turned into full on laughter. “The latter,” he admitted.

Ron’s head bobbed, acknowledging.

Harry looked at him at last. “That book… that was your idea alone, wasn’t it? She doesn’t know?”

Ron snorted. “Harry, that’s the secret of my great success. I’d never tell Hermione I learned all my tricks from a _book_. I’d never live that down.”

“Why, though? Why did you give that to me?”

“I could see that you suffered next to Ginny. It was painful to watch because you’re my friend and because she’s my sister, but it’s not like I could go up to you and tell you to break up with her. Snape was a lot more important to you than her.”

“He needed me,” Harry said quietly.

“Yeah, once every two weeks maybe.” Ron nodded. “And you had lessons and homework and that assistant position with Wallace, I get it, it was a lot. But you never tried to make it up. You distanced yourself from her from the first day back at school.”

He didn’t sound angry. He stated all that as facts.

“Look,” Ron said, “if you love someone, you make time for them. You ask them what bothers them. You touch them, comfort them. That was missing from you two and I kind of guessed.”

“You _guessed_ that I’m gay?” Harry said incredulous.

“Are you?”

Harry shrugged, noncommittal.

“I didn’t say anything to Hermione, because… well… I didn’t _know_ anything, but I asked her some stuff. Harry, wizards might judge each other based on their blood status, but they’re not picky about where they put their cock.”

Harry went red at the blunt wording, not that this was the first time he wondered about such possibilities.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Ron sighed deeply, “it doesn’t matter if you’re gay. Or not gay. No one cares. We’re not like the Muggles. Really.”

“Unless, you’re a student and he’s a professor.” Harry noted quietly.

“Well yeah,” Ron grunted. “That might present some problems.”

They watched the sky for a while, motionless and in silence. The air was cold but refreshing and it didn’t bother Harry at all.

“He’s so… intense.” Harry said after a while. “Everything he does is just so… passionate. When he duels, when he argues, when he teaches… It’s live or die, trust or go, fly or fall, hate or… It’s just _so much_.”

He sighs deeply then looks at Ron.

“He needs my help, but he sends me away. The idea of hurting me terrifies him, but he fights with viciousness – and wins, mind you, but he never hurts me on purpose.” Harry said heatedly. “He begs me to leave him be but when I say no, he holds me firmly. When I touch him, I feel the most intense burning inside me and that’s even without his magic rushing through me, which is way worse. Or better. All he needs to do is brush a finger over my _palm_ and I’m already on edge. He tells me to trust him and then blindfolds me, he touches my arms, my _thigh_ and then moves on like nothing happened, like that’s a totally normal way to teach someone to turn into a bird. For fuck’s sake when he licked the Kiss of Death from my finger I almost… Ron, I almost…”

He was aware of Ron trying to hide his sniggering, but he could not stop the onslaught of pent up frustrations.

“He would have let me take all his magic just so he won’t hurt me anymore. How does that not mean anything?”

“What?” Ron gaped.

“He said it was my life at risk, I should make the call.”

“Well it was his, too.” Ron said, suddenly a little paler. “You can't just take a wizard’s magic… It’s like a Dementor’s Kiss. You stay alive, but you’re not living anymore.”

“He made a potion… I guess it would have just completely suppressed it.”

“Well, if anyone, he could make something like that…” Ron noted. “But that’s…  very selfless of him. To give up your magic…” He shuddered.

“Yes…” Harry mumbled. “I guess it is…”

Ron looked at him thoughtful. “I noticed, you weren’t in your bed last Sunday night or the next morning. I figured you two…”

“I went to him. I just wanted to talk to him.”

“Sure,” Ron commented, grinning.

“Arse,” Harry murmured, then went on. “He was asleep. I fell asleep, too, in his office, then woke up in his bed the next morning.”

“That’s a ballsy move, Harry,” Ron commented. “And? Did something happen?”

“I wish,” Harry admitted quietly, but then shook his head. “Nothing ever happens, because he doesn’t think of it like that. A touch is just a method of teaching or to have me to trust him, when I almost kiss him it’s just because he wants to push me off the tower and doesn’t want me thinking about it, smoking a cigarette is just that too… ashes and smoke.”

Harry heaved a sigh, burying his head in his palm. “Every time he sucks on those bloody cigs all I can think about is him sucking something else and it kills me, Ron, because none of this matters, it’s just in my head. It’s not real.”

That made Ron laugh out but not for the reason Harry thought.

“Oh, mate believe me, he’s thinking the exact same thing.”

Harry looked up. “Why do you say that?”

“Snape might be a very intense man, but he does not do anything without a reason. He always acts with purpose, Harry. If he sits next to you, it’s because he wants to be close to you, he touches you because he wants to feel you. And believe me, he smokes the same cigarette as you only because he wants to taste _you_. And he did the Kiss of Death with you. Harry, you might not have known what it was, but I bet you, he was perfectly aware of what he was doing.”

“Then why? Why would he send me away? He’s not giving me more lessons, either.”

“He is a professor, a _headmaster_.” Ron said. “If word gets out that he’s shagging a student, even if you’re of age now, he’s done for.”

Harry leaned back, letting his head hang over the edge of the chair. The stars shone bright, yet he couldn’t tell what the future might bring for him.

“If that’s true, there’s not much I can do, is there?” Harry said after a long moment. “I ruined his magic, I won’t ruin his career, too.”

“Heads up, mate. It’s already February. You’ll be done with school in June and then…”

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the phantom touch of a warm gust of wind. _And then_ what? Summer warmth and happiness? What if it wasn’t just their student-teacher relationship that made Snape keep this distance?

“Thanks,” Harry said quietly. “For this…”

Ron pat Harry’s back firmly. “Don’t mention it, Harry. I’m here if you need to come out for a fly again.”

They climbed down from the stand and headed back towards the castle. Ron walked beside him in quiet, though the mood wasn’t heavy anymore. It was dark and the road to the Quidditch pitch wasn’t lit so they walked with their arms held up high, tip of their wands lighting the way.

Suddenly, Ron stopped. Harry was about to ask him why, when he heard it, too.

Footsteps were coming towards them. Hurried, almost running, snow crunching beneath light feet.

McGonagall showed up in front of them. Harry’s wand illuminated her face. She was scared and worried. She was bleeding from a scar on her forehead.

“There you are, Potter. Finally.” She sniffed. “Come with me, please. We have a problem.”

She ushered them towards the castle with a hand and Harry saw bleeding cuts on it as well. He knew instantly what was going on.

“Where is he?” Harry asked urgently.

“In his office,” McGonagall said quickening her steps. “He’s barely conscious and very dangerous. Poppy found him, but there’s nothing we can do, we cannot even get close to him.”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and looked up at the castle. “That idiot,” he murmured under his breath.

“Come, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall cried, but Harry shook his head.

“I’ll take the shortcut. It’s quicker.” He said then jumped into the air and morphed into an owl.

Even as he beat his wings wildly, he could still hear McGonagall’s surprised, “Oh!”

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Ron asked.

“Oh yes. It appears, he taught him well.”


	20. Unsuitable Reactions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Lovelies, I know you're going to hate me for this, but I might not be able to upload a new chapter until Christmas. Work is getting real busy and I'm doing a lot of overtime and barely have any days off and I have a lot to do on those days as well. I'll try to upload on the 15th, but I cant promise anything. I just wanted to give you all a heads-up, and I hope you understand :)  
>  I cant tell you how much I appreciate the feedback on this story. Your comments warm my heart better than a mug of hot chocolate. Love you all!_

## XX: Unsuitable Reactions

 

Harry zoomed through the open window like a rocket. Madam Pomfrey jumped back in freight.

“Bloody birds,” she commented then watched with eyes comically wide as Harry changed back into a human.

As Harry’s feet touched the ground, he looked around. Snape was lying at the feet of the desk and he understood immediately where McGonagall’s small cuts came from. Snape’s magic buzzed around him like electricity. It struck anything around him randomly, like lightning and with every strike, his own body seemed to have convulsed as well. He was in pain, in agony it seemed.

This was worse than the impenetrable sphere of wild power. No one could come near him. Madam Pomfrey, too, was idling over at the other corner, standing far from him. Her wand and another, probably McGonagall’s, was lying on the floor at Snape’s leg. Obviously, they had been unarmed the moment they stepped into the room. 

Snape’s eyes were shut firmly as he grunted in sheer torture as his magic lashed out again. Lightning cracked and a window broke into pieces, covering the ground with colourful glasses.

“Snape!” Harry moved closer but Madam Pomfrey’s shout stopped him.

“Don’t, Mr. Potter, he’ll only end up hurting you!”

“No,” Harry said convinced then moved towards Snape slowly. “Please go out, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry asked. “He won't hurt me, but it might be dangerous to you.”

“Mr. Potter, I doubt-“

“I’ve done this before, please just leave.” Harry begged. He didn’t dare touch Snape as long as she was present as well.

The door opened and McGonagall peaked into room. Snape must have sensed the disturbance because he lashed out. The two elder ladies shrieked even though it was Harry the magic attacked, as he was the closest thing to Snape.

Harry felt every little fork of lightning on his skin, but it didn’t hurt him. It welcomed him, greeted him happily, with warmth and excitement.

Snape turned his head towards him and grunted. It sounded almost like his first name. He wanted to hold Snape, but he didn’t dare. Not until the others were here.

“Please, go,” he repeated. “We’ll be fine.” He looked McGonagall pleadingly in his eyes and said it again. “Please, Professor, I can't help unless you go. It doesn’t hurt me, look!” He pushed his hand closer to Snape, not touching him yet, but close enough. A shot of electricity ran up his hand, nipping his skin like tiny prickling needles.

“ _Harry_ …” Snape groaned in pain and that finally seemed to have convinced the two ladies to leave.

“Do not let anyone come in here!” Harry instructed and when they finally left, he pulled out his wand made sure to lock the door, just in case.

He kneeled next to Snape, dropping his wand to the ground. “Severus?” He called softly.

Snape shuddered, his whole body convulsed as if he had a seizure. Lightning snapped around Harry, wands went flying, books blackened and smoked, but he remained unharmed.

Black eyes opened, hazy and in anguish. “Harry…” Snape sighed. One of his hand lifted weakly in the air. “It _hurts_ … Please… _touch me_ …”

Both of Harry’s hands sought out Snape’s and he gripped them hard, fingers entwined. Before he could feel the magic rush through him, he had one last clear thought; this was the first time Snape did not send him away when the situation seemed dire, didn’t ask for them to fight instead. It was Harry’s touch he needed, but was it him or his magic that asked for it?

Then came the electric surge of magic and it wiped Harry’s mind clear of everything. Thought and emotions gone he didn’t know where he was. All he felt was a wild power, pure, untamed, unrestrained. He let it take him, they flew high, soared through a milky whiteness and endless darkness all at the same time. He was blind and deaf, that raw magic had led him gently through nothingness. He trusted it.

When he came about, he didn’t know how much time had passed. There was destruction around them, but at least Snape wasn’t shooting lightnings anymore. Cabinet doors had shattered, glass and wood laid scattered around them in millions of tiny pieces. Walls were scorched as if a bomb had exploded in the room, pages from books still fluttered around. The furniture, desk and chairs had been crushed against the walls by the force of the sudden burst of magic.

Harry lifted his head, trying to focus through the pulsing magic pouring through him. He was lying halfway across Snape, who was still writhing beneath him. He did not dare let him go, not that he would ever want to.

He tried pushing himself up. Flimsy arms held his weight, they wanted to buckle every time Snape gripped his hand firmly. He held on long enough until he could straddle Snape – a relative steadiness, holding on for less than a second.

Legs suddenly tucked up, Snape bucked his hips and Harry fell forward. He landed on lean chest, but the crash knocked the breath out of him. Snape’s body beneath him jerked in pain.

Harry’s mind barely understood the concept that he was on top of Snape. The continuous sensual stream of magic between them left him mindless and hypersensitive. The fact that he was hard, achingly hard, didn’t register until minutes later when he realized he had been rutting against Snape like an animal in heat.

Snape’s hold on his hand was so firm it almost broke bones. Fingertips dig into his skin so hard, they all but crushed his knuckles and yet it was Harry who had pinned Snape to the ground arms above the professor’s head.

Harry forced his eyes open as he looked down on Snape. Long hair snaked around the pale face, moved and wriggled as Snape thrashed his head left or right. Thin lips parted, he was breathing hard. Sweat ran slowly down his forehead, Harry leaned there, kissed it off.

The salty taste in his mouth made him keen. Snape waved beneath him like the sea at high tide. Shoulder’s tensing, back arching away from the ground of his office.

Pain or pleasure? He couldn’t decide. Was Snape still in anguish, or could it be that he was feeling the same intense desire cursing in his veins that made Harry senseless and reckless.

“Snape,” Harry called for him gently, his lips pressed against Snape’s ear. “Severus…” he said again, when no answer came.

“I’m sorry…” Snape whispered. “I’m so sorry… I can't… I can't stop it…”

“Why didn’t you call for me, you idiot,” Harry chided softly. “You promised, you call if you need me.” His lips were at Snape’s neck. He kissed it now that he was there already. The smell of rain and ocean hit his nose. He grunted.

“I did…” Snape murmured. “I tried…”

“Does it still hurt?” Harry asked desperate. He wished he could embrace Snape, but he did not dare let him go just yet.

“No, it’s not pain,” Snape moaned. “It’s like flying…”

Another wave of pure energy had all Harry’s willpower fly out the broken windows. He leaned up on their joined hands that were still over Snape’s head.

“Yes, it is,” he said.

He planted his knees firmly on both sides of Snape’s thigh. He rolled his hips pressing down hard and Snape’s back lifted from the ground in one last spasm. Black eyes flew open and Snape’s thin lips parted in a silent cry.

After he fell back to the ground, Snape watched Harry intensely for a moment. He was panting hard, and there was an unreadable, dark expression on his face. There was no more magic flowing between them, yet Harry still felt the same intoxicating need. He wanted to grind down, press close to Snape, tear these wet, sweaty clothes off them and lie back over him.

Snape let go of his hands but did not move.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

Snape shook his head.

“If after _this_ ,” Harry pointed around the room, “you dare tell me it’s none of my concern, I’m going to hit you.” He stated before Snape could say his usual excuses.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the threat, but did give a proper answer in the end. “Got a letter from Kingsley. Wallace wants me removed and he issued a missive about my current predicament to the Board.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Harry admitted with concern.

“And you straddling me in my office does not _look_ any better, so would you mind?” Snape sneered.

It might not look good, but it felt fantastic and Harry wished to remain where he was. Snape’s glare however soon got him removing himself from atop Snape. Carefully, because he wouldn’t live down the shame if Snape found out he was hard from what had just happened.

As Harry stood, Snape sat up and looked at the dusty mess that remained after the destruction that his magic created. Harry’s eyes shifted over the ruined office, too, and he reminded himself to maybe thank Snape later for not killing him, because he was sure that a power that could make this demolition, could have easily hurt him. Though he doubted it was a conscious choice on Snape’s part.

Snape rose from the ground then walked to his desk. It took a moment of rummaging through torn papers and broken glass but in the end, he had found his wand. He lifted it and waved it once over himself, then over the room. Harry picked up McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey’s wand, then stood aside and just watched the room reorganise itself.

As the large desk moved back to its place, chairs arranged themselves into their proper position. Harry remembered how much toll it took on him to do something like this early on, after the war. To Snape now it was nothing. He barely paid attention to the books, or the ruined gadgets that came all back together.

He was watching Harry, dark eyes inscrutable, assessing.  Broken glass lifted into the air around them and the moment seemed to freeze or perhaps, Snape’s easily flowing magic halted there for a brief second. Warm candlelight glinted on suspended glass shards as Harry looked into black eyes across the room. Like a spark of ignition, the previous desire surged up inside him. He even took a hesitant step towards Snape, involuntarily yet fully aware how heavy his legs felt at that moment.

Snape blinked and shards became windows again, the magic continued, and Harry stayed where he was.

“Did I hurt you? Or anyone?” Snape asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. Did Snape not remember what happened? “I’m fine, but you might owe a healing charm or two to Professor McGonagall.”

Snape looked about the once again orderly room as if expecting McGonagall to just jump out from behind one of the bookcases.

“Where is she?”

“Outside,” Harry said. “I’ll go get them.”

The air seemed heavy in there and Harry was grateful to have a reason and walk just a little further away from Snape. The professor and the Madam were just outside the door and once Harry stepped out, he found himself in the healer’s arm.

“He seems all right, Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey stated after giving a thorough once over to Harry.

McGonagall breathed out a sigh of relief then hugged Harry. “I am so sorry, Potter, to put you through this.”

A pang of guilt hit Harry’s heart. “It’s my fault anyway, Professor.” He said quietly as he handed back the ladies their wands.

“He told you about it then?” McGonagall sounded surprised.

Harry just nodded. “You can go inside now, he’s fine.”

Long fingers gripped Harry’s shoulder surprisingly tenderly. “No one is blaming you, Harry. You did right to stand with him. Someone had to.” Said Professor McGonagall in a soft, emotional voice, then she and Madam Pomfrey went inside.

Harry didn’t go with them. He watched the closed door for a couple more seconds then turned away. He had no business there anymore. Snape’s magic was back to normal, which meant so was everything else. He stepped onto the moving stairs.

“Potter,” he heard Snape’s gentle voice when he was almost at the base. Harry looked up. Snape stood on top of the stairs, blocking the light. He moved a couple steps down then said in a quiet voice, “We need to talk.” He nodded behind him and added, “Wait for me on the balcony, I won't be long.”

Heart suddenly fluttering for no reason, Harry said, “All right,” then turned and left.

Once on the corridor he walked to the first window and opened it. He flew out as an owl and made a small circle around Snape’s office then landed on the balustrade. He shifted back into his human form and waited.

It was cold outside now, the late February evening was merciless on him even though he had his robes on. He looked behind him. Snape’s bedroom was lit invitingly. He tried the handle hesitantly, and the door opened. He walked inside.

It was only a week ago that he had been here, and the place changed nothing but after his talk with Ron and mostly after being somewhat honest with himself it was like everything had changed.

He stood over the bed, then fell down on it. He rolled onto his back. Not that it would keep the scents at bay. The moment he stepped inside the room, he could smell Snape’s fresh, rainy scent and now, as he turned his face towards the sheet, he hated himself for wanting _this_. It wasn’t right and he knew it. Not just for Snape, but for himself as well.

He gripped into the covers and brought it up to his nose. He let his eyes close. He wanted to turn around, and imagine that he had never moved away from atop Snape, that he was still there, hips gently rocking forward, pressing, seeking. He could have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew was that Snape’s voice came from near him.

“I said, balcony.” Said Snape standing right over him.

Harry sat up right away, covering the revealing evidence of his vivid imagination. “I was tired.” He said.

Snape’s hands were at his sides idly and Harry wanted to take them and pull the man over him. He shook his head, rubbing his face. Enough of these pointless fantasies.

He stood and walked away from the bed, trying to clear his mind, trying his best to just will his erection away, as if it would be so easy given, he was surrounded with Snape’s scent and was in the man’s bedroom.

“What did you want to talk about?” Harry asked his back to Snape as, head tilted, he read though titles of books he had never even heard of.

“We won’t do this ever again,” Snape said from somewhere behind him.

“We won't have to, if you call me in time.” Harry said and turned around. “It’s less intense when you…” His words died away when he looked up at Snape. Dark eyes watched him, waiting for Harry to realize what he had meant.

“We will duel as we used to. You have a faint understanding of the basics of Intuitive magic, I can teach you more. If you can manage that you won’t need spells or shielding, you can react with instincts and there will be less chance for me to harm you.”

Harry let him speak, allowed him to finish whatever nonsense he wanted to say then simply shook his head and firmly stated, “No.”

Snape stood motionless in the middle of the room. Obsidian gaze glared at Harry sternly.

“Potter,” Snape had a warning edge to his voice again.

“I can help you.”

“You can, but not like this. Not anymore.”

Did Snape realize Harry’s state? Could he have felt Harry against him, even when he was barely conscious and didn’t even remember injuring McGonagall?

Harry needed to know what brought this on all of a sudden. It was fine until now, it was _all right_.

“Why?” He demanded.

Snape marched up to him, all but flew across the room. Billowing robes twirled around him too and the air they stirred up brushed over Harry when Snape came to a halt only a foot from him.

“You _know_ why.” Snape said firmly.

“I don’t.” Harry denied immediately.

“We crossed the line that was _never_ to be crossed.” Snape said softly.

“We didn’t. This is fine.” Harry told him.

“You know this isn’t fine, Potter.” Snape said. “Not anymore. What we do is _inappropriate_.”

Harry shook his head in denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said. “I’m just holding your hand while your magic calms. There’s nothing inappropriate in that.”

“Isn’t there?” hissed Snape.

He moved until he backed Harry against a wall. “Isn’t there?” He repeated voice quiet now, intimate.

“No, there isn’t.” Harry insisted, his eyes bravely standing Snape’s dark glare.

Snape moved even closer, looming over Harry. He didn’t touch Harry with a finger, but when he spoke in a croaked whisper, Harry shuddered.

“So, if I were to touch you now…” He looked down between their bodies, obsidian eyes following every dip and hill of Harry’s chest, then even lower.

Snape let the implication of his unsaid words hang between them like a rope. Harry could catch it and save himself. Climb up on it and hide from Snape and all his devilish accusations. The rope was there waiting for him, and for a second even Snape’s eyes seemed to have focused on something between them too, something in that inch of thin air, but then his faced turned into a grimace as he looked back up at Harry.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Professor.” Harry jeered, cold and frowning.

He knew, of course, he knew perfectly well. But he didn’t want to lose what he had with Snape, those moment of pure bliss, the banter, the quiet silence as they shared a cigarette. He wanted to remain close to him, even if only during those short moments.

Of course, Snape had noticed. How could it allude his sharp eyes? He had to see how things were changing, turning from one thing to another, from innocent to sinful, from safe to dangerous, from pure to wicked.

Snape seemed to have put everything on that small touch as he lifted his hand and placed it right above Harry’s belt buckle. He was leaning against the wall with his other hand, leaving no route for Harry to escape.

“Do you not?” Snape asked with a hoarse voice. “Could you really _still_ not know what is happening?”

The rope was still there hanging in that couple inch that still separated their bodies – not much but just enough – waiting, waiting.

Snape must have seen it, too. It was the only way out. Someone had to grasp it, they both could not be such fools to stay, to not move, to not start climbing. It must have been obvious to Snape what he was doing. He must have known. Why was he not moving then?

They could not do this, put this out in the open. It was mortifying. It was one thing to fantasise about Snape in the darkness of his own mind, hold his hand while the man remained unaware of the desire rushing through Harry, but quite another to do all that with Snape cognisant of what was happening to Harry.

This should have never happened. Harry should agree to Snape’s terms. This wasn’t right. This was the epitome of wrong. It was dangerous. Improper. Mad.

Exciting. Enticing. So good. Harry felt the blood pump in his veins, his heart throb madly against his ribcage.

Endless black eyes pinned him against the wall.

“You tell me,” Snape said softly, “that this is not inappropriate?”

“I don’t know what…” Harry began to say, but Snape slowly, _so_ _slowly_ , started moving his hand downwards and Harry’s words froze into his throat.

They burned the rope instead of taking it. They chose damnation instead of a safe haven. A choice was given but they never took it, neither Harry nor Snape. They could have pretended, stick to a dependable, predictable road but not anymore. Whatever happened now wasn’t just inappropriate, it was also inevitable.

“Liar…” Snape grunted once his sluggishly moving fingers slid over hardness. The little blush tinting his cheeks didn’t take away from the wildness of his black eyes as he cupped Harry’s hard cock firmly.

Cheeks burning, Harry tried to ignore the rush of arousal, stopped his body from wanting to thrust into that warm hand.

“So what?” He asked fiercely. “As long as it helps you, who cares?”

_“This_ does not help me!” Snape hissed, fingers brushing against Harry’s hardness one more time, before he stepped away.

“But I do,” Harry said, willing to swallow his pride just to convince Snape not to go back to duelling.

“No, Potter. _No_.” Snape grunted. “This cannot continue.”

“Why?”

_“Why_? Are you daft?”

“I told you, it does not hurt me. What else did you think was happening?” Harry asked accusingly.

“I don’t know,” Snape admitted agitated. “I certainly never expected that it…”

He looked at Harry with something like sympathy and Harry was sick with himself.

“What Snape?” He snarled. “Say it!”

Snape glared at him, then said it out loud, ruthlessly, “That it would _excite_ you.”

Harry grunted, the words making his cheek burn even more if that was even possible. “I’m at an age when lot of things excite me.”

Resigned, Snape bent his head. “I should not be one of those things.”

Harry marched up to Snape, pressing his pointing finger into his chest. “It’s not _you_. It’s the magic.”

“ _My_ magic.”

“Magic that is powerful enough to manifest. It’s wild, it’s exciting, it’s _nothing_ like you.” Harry spat as his last resort.

Snape’ eyes flashed in anger as he looked up at Harry. Though as he scowled at him, something akin to hurt passed in the obsidian eyes.

Snape turned around and marched away to the other side of the room and for a moment, Harry had thought he had won, that the man was retreating but then Snape took out something from a drawer and rushed back to Harry.

He chucked a white shirt at Harry’s chest. The insinuation was enough to make Harry’s stomach twist into a tight knot.

“What’s this?” Harry asked wildly, grasping at straws.

“That, Potter, is my shirt, as you perfectly well know.” Snape said emotionlessly. “You cleaned the bed well enough, I imagine, but I found this on the floor.”

Eyes widened, Harry stared blindly at the cloth in his hands. Pristine white and clean now, yet still wrinkled as if someone had taken it out from time to time just to hold it, uncomprehending. 

He looked up at Snape feeling lost, feeling robbed of something he wanted so badly to cling on: _hope_.

“Why?” Snape asked quietly.

“I don’t know…” Harry answered almost silently.

“Don’t lie.”

Harry blinked, his gaze wandering from one endless eye to the other. “It smelled like you.” He whispered desperately.

The next moment Harry found himself in Snape’s arms once again. It was such a gentle, innocent hold. Both his arms and Snape’s shirt were trapped between their bodies and Harry buried his face in the white fabric.

“You fool, you…” Snape murmured tenderly against the top of Harry’s head. “Now you understand why this cannot go on?”

Harry said nothing. He just let his head rest against Snape’s shoulder. He didn’t want this to end, ever. God, he just wanted to stay like this till he died, strong arms around him, warm body against his, fingers gently stroking his hair and the scent of fresh rain everywhere.

Harry, hands pressed against Snape’s chest, suddenly became aware of something, a little hard knot over Snape’s heart. He brushed his fingers over it, trying to feel what it was.

Snape pulled away without another word, as if that small touch already would have been too much, too inappropriate. Was this how it would be from now on?

Harry pulled his hand back quickly, feeling embarrassed, hoping against all odds that Snape would stop moving away from him then. But of course, hope was lost, and Snape stepped back.

He didn’t dare look up, he just held the white shirt, wrinkled now from the force of his grip. Yet, he still saw in the periphery of his vision as Snape’s hand went to his neck. Deft fingers quickly unfastened the top two buttons then disappeared beneath the layers. A moment later, Snape pulled a long black chain out, with which Harry was very familiar.

“You’re wearing it?” He asked with disbelief as Snape let go of the necklace. The moonstone pendant wrapped in wings fell onto his chest.

“Always.” His quiet, deep voice was nothing more than a whisper. “Like your touch, it keeps me calm.”

Harry reached for it. He wasn’t stopped and his fingers enclosed around the little adornment. Soaked in Snape’s body warmth, it was still almost hot to the touch. He could feel it etch to his skin, all but searing into the middle of his palm, like a mark, branding him.

He leaned there, looked up into endless black eyes, then kissed it, let it burn against his lips, too.

Snape inhaled, one long, deep breath, shaky, apparently to calm himself. However, it was too late, Harry knew, he could feel it. His own body, or magic, seemed to have tuned in to Snape.

At first it was almost like just a distortion around Snape’s body, like heat making the air seem liquefied, then it slowly darkened, turning blue, more solid, yet still shimmering, waving. Iridescent, like black feathers in the moonlight.

Snape was shaking his head already, but Harry still said, “Just take my hand.”

Black eyes closed, Snape’s hand flinched as if he would _want to_ reach out, would want to take. “No,” he said in a weak voice.

“Please…” Harry breathed. “I promise… I’ll… I’ll behave.”

Black eyes shot open and Snape jerked away. “ _You_ …” He echoed disbelieving. “Are you blind? Don’t you see, what’s going on here?” He grunted sounding desperate, backing away, getting further and further away from him. “Harry, it’s not _your_ self-control, I’m worried about.”

Harry watched him, eyes wide, knowing the shock was written on his face.

It wasn’t all in his head. They weren’t just meaningless touches that could be brushed aside with a shake of one’s head. It was real. All of it was real.

“You shouldn’t trust me, Harry.” Snape said, more firmly now, head bent, looking at the ground. “You should never have trusted me.”


	21. The Call of the Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I've not much to say and I know you're eager to read the new chapter so I'll be quick. I want to thank you all the immense patience you show to my irregular uploads, and the tender love with which you shower me in the comment section after every chapter. It means the world, it is the best gift I can hope for, honestly. I can only hope, the new chapter is enough to repay it. Anyway..._
> 
> _Happy Holidays My Lovelies!_

## XXI: The Call of the Void

 

Harry walked out to the balcony after Snape. It felt as if weeks had passed by since he was out there flying around with Ron, yet it was still the same night, the same sky, the same stars. Only they were different, at least that was how it felt.

“Are you angry with me?” Harry asked quietly.

_Does wanting me make you angry?_

The magic looked beautiful around Snape now in the night. It waved serenely, like streams of water, colours ranging from turquoise to ocean blue.

Snape was leaning against the balustrade, his back to Harry. He didn’t look back when Harry came out, didn’t even send him away, which Harry took as permission to stay. Now, he still didn’t move, and Harry thought maybe he wasn’t heard, then at last, Snape shook his head, just a little flinch.

Harry stood next to him. Snape took a long drag from his cig, his fingers shaking against his lips. He blew out the smoke, then said, “I told you, Potter. It happens when my emotions are high, out of control. Anger, fear, happiness… lust; it does not matter.”

“I don’t want to make it worse.” Harry said softly. “Do you want me to leave?”

Snape finally looked towards him. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay right here. But you mustn’t. You _need to_ leave. We can't do this anymore.”

Minutes went by, but neither of them moved to walk away. There was stillness. Only the ember glowed up occasionally as Snape blew into the cigarette. Harry looked into agitated black eyes. The wind tore into Snape’s long hair, black tresses danced and flew in the air like spilled torrents of ink.

Harry understood the risks, realized what a hazardous game it would be. He knew what they would jeopardize. And yet… Snape was right there, and he wanted to reach out.

He opened his mouth, terrified and excited all at the same time.

“What if I don’t want to go?”

Eyes closing for a moment, Snape just sighed. There was fierce yearning in his gaze as he watched Harry then slowly placed the cigarette to Harry’s mouth. Fingertips pressed against Harry’s lips and he kissed them.

“Would it be so bad?” Harry asked tentatively a minute later. His voice was quiet as a whisper, but his insinuation screamed into the night what he wanted, where he wanted to be.

Something flashed in Snape’s eyes and he threw away the cigarette, and instead cupped Harry’s chin. His thumb stroked Harry across the lips then he pressed the digit into Harry’s mouth slightly. Harry run his tongue around it, sucked it as if it would be just a butt of a cig.

He could hear Snape gasp for air, before the man shifted closer and placed a gentle kiss on the side of Harry’s forehead, near his scar.

“It would be wonderful. Breath-taking. Wild.” Snape whispered in a hoarse voice. “And that’s why it’s so dangerous.”

Harry grasped his wrist. Snape’s magic pulsed in recognition. A little cry, filled with longing, broke out of Harry’s throat.

“You need me,” Harry said and held up his hands.

“No,” Snape shook his head, yet his hands rose in the air, too. “I _want_ you.”

Harry whimpered as their hands came together and their fingers intertwined once again. Snape pulled him closer and he happily followed.

“But I won't touch you. What you do, however is beyond my control.” Snape stated and through hazy, lust filled mind, Harry didn’t understand what he meant at first, until Snape wedged his thigh between Harry’s legs and left it there as if it was only an accident.

Harry groaned then pressed against it. Snape didn’t pull away, his magic though vibrated against Harry’s skin like myriads of bees.

With immense magic cruising through his veins a second time that night, Harry was barely aware of the movements of his body; the pulsing grip of his fingers, his harsh breathing against the crook of Snape’s neck, he did not feel any of that. He was concentrating on one thing only: not to rock against that leg between his.

Or was he really allowed to? Didn’t he _just_ say he would control himself?

“Whatever you do, this will be the last time this happens,” Snape said in a soft voice. Gentle, deep, like a brush of silk against Harry’s ears. “You might as well enjoy it.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Harry’s mouth opened, and he pressed it against Snape’s neck. He didn’t want this to end ever. He’d do anything to feel this power rushing through him again and again. To have Snape’s body just like this, pressing against his, full of promises.

Yet he looked up at the face that had captured his attention so long ago.

“Alone, it isn’t as much fun.”

Snape swallowed. Harry could feel the hesitance in him, tensing shoulders, shaking breath, before he said, “I had my fun in the study before.”

It took a moment for Harry to understand what Snape meant, but the image of the man beneath him, arched from the ground, mouth open in a silent cry should have been explanation enough.

“It’s only fair to allow you a chance to have yours.” Snape explained.

“You… there… You…?” Harry chocked unable to form even a coherent sentence, his mind preoccupied with recalling that image over and over again. Air barely got through his throat, but his hips made an involuntary jerk forward. “Why didn’t you…?”

“What, say a word?” Snape smirked. “Next time, I’ll just announce it, shall I?”

Harry knew Snape didn’t mean it, hell even Snape knew it, Harry could read it off his face, yet the words _next time_ sent a wild shiver down Harry’s body and he rolled his hips, this time with intent.

“There won't be a next time,” Snape warned before Harry could say a word.

He could feel their connection weaken, Snape’s magic was pulling back. It was like he was calming down, or rather, gaining control.

Black eyes glinted in the moonlight. “Use me,” Snape said, then with a daring, smug smile he added, “I will feel better against you than my shirt did.” He gave a little nudge with his leg.

Harry’s body answered with a wild tug in his belly. These were no butterflies fluttering, just a monster in there, a dragon breathing fire into Harry’s veins.

“I can imagine,” he answered with a teasing smile. “Though with your shirt, there was nothing else between us.”

“Don’t be insatiable.” Snape advised carefully, though Harry could tell that image didn’t leave him unaffected. “This is all I dare offer you.”

Snape wasn’t glowing anymore. His magic quietly retreated and though Harry still felt that buzzing high everywhere in his system, he suspected it was for different reasons this time. It was weird though how quiet and calm Snape’s magic had been, not at all what Harry was used to.

“It’s getting easier, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, and no.” Snape said. “Remember, mere hour ago I lost full control. But it calms if I give in to my needs.”

“And just what are your needs, Professor Snape?” Harry innocently asked then pushed his cock against Snape’s thigh. “This?”

Snape huffed, leg lifting slightly. “ _Mr. Potter_ ,” he started darkly, “let’s not play games, shall we? You’re perfectly aware of what I intend to do with you. The only reason you’re not on my bed with a cock up your arse at this very moment is because I am still, thank Merlin, in full control of my body at least, and I _won't allow_ anything to happen between us.”

“Is that so, Professor?” Harry asked cockily, then looked between their bodies. Snape’s gaze followed.

While Harry stood idle, Snape was slowly thrusting against him, half hard cock shifting against Harry’s firmly muscled leg. The motioned stopped the moment Snape became aware of it. He let Harry’s hands go and gripped the balustrade instead.

Harry wasn’t going to let him have mercy though. He slowly moved, shifted, leg sliding against hardness, his and Snape’s, too.

“You know, I think, I wouldn’t be averse to such an idea.” Harry suggested carefully, his hands resting now on Snape’s waist.

“What idea?” Snape grunted.

“You, me, bed. Right about now.”

Snape watched him intently for a long moment, then his hands grabbed into Harry’s arse, pulling him closer, as he tucked his leg against the railing. Harry was mounted on Snape’s thigh, toes barely gracing the ground. He fell forwards with a low moan.

“ _This_ is my only offer,” Snape growled, lips against Harry’s ear. “Take it or leave it.”

Harry smiled to himself. His arms hooked around Snape’s head, fingers buried in long black tresses, he rolled his hips, thrust forward. He inhaled the delicious scent, let his body grind against the leg between his and pressed his thigh against Snape’s cock.

As he looked between their bodies, he could clearly see the outlines of both erections, pressing firmly against blue jeans and black slacks. Harry wanted to touch it, curious how another man’s penis would feel on his hand, how different it would be to stroke Snape not himself. He wondered how it would taste, how heavy it would be on his tongue.

He felt a kiss on his neck, then another and another. Snape licked the base of his throat. Hot breath caressed him, as Snape’s mouth plastered against burning skin. Harry cried out when he felt him suck on his skin, leaving behind a bruise that, no doubt, he wouldn’t offer to heal later on.

Fingers digging into his ass firmly guided him, helped him thrust, drew him closer. He didn’t hold back, tugged on Snape’s hair. Snape grunted, a low deep sigh, quivering, filled with desire. He bit down on Harry’s skin.

Harry felt himself melt in pleasure. This was so good, _this_ , barely anything, but then what would it feel like to have Snape move against him bare, exposed, naked. White skin, black hair falling down his uncovered shoulders, pressing, not against, but _in_ …

“I want to be closer to you,” he whispered softly, pleading one last time.

“Oh, Harry, you’re close. You’re too close already,” Snape answered, breathless, moving, shifting, grinding.

Harry breathed out, a harsh sound, almost a cry. “Closer,” he demanded, eyes closing fingers going down and gripping Snape’s hard-on. Snape didn’t stop him.

Fuck it was so weird, so foreign, yet still that dragon in Harry’s stomach roared. Snape was long and hard as steel and Harry clutched, awkwardly, palm caressing with rough moves.

Snape whined, _whined_ , a desperate, eager, needy sound and Harry leaned to his ear. He kissed the edge, ran his tongue over the rim, took the lobe in his mouth and sucked on it. His fast breathing filled Snape’s mind, no doubt, he heard nothing else.

“Do you want to fuck me?” He asked in a low voice. It wasn’t an offer, not quite. Just temptation in words instead of a glance.

Snape keened, his moan almost a sob. “You know I do,” he choked.

One of his hands rushed up on Harry’s back, pushing his clothes up, he caressed Harry’s bare skin, but the other slithered down on Harry’s bottom, reached between his legs deep enough that Harry felt fingertips against his bullocks.

“Oh, god,” he groaned. “You make this real hard, Severus.”

“Me? _I_ make this hard?” Snape sneered then turned them around. He pressed Harry against the balustrade, hand kneading his ass, as he thrust against him hard and fast, urging. Harry kept his hand between them, rubbing it against Snape’s cock.

Snape’ fingers dug into Harry’s back, his claws sunk into his skin as he pressed out, “What I offered you was simple and now look at us, rutting like animals.”

Harry placed his hand on Snape’s chest. “We’re not animals, though, are we?” he asked, then pushed the man away. He didn’t need much force, which was surprising, given how firm Snape had gripped him everywhere.

Confused eyes looked at him, searched his face, worried. Harry leaned to it and placed a soft kiss, barely a peck, on Snape’s lips, which probably surprised him more than anything. Then Harry withdrew, breathed in deep and smiled, self-satisfied.

“Thanks for the offer, but I have to refuse.”

“ _What_?” Snape growled.

Harry hopped onto the balustrade, brushed his hair back. He shrugged. “Can I have a cigarette, please?”

Snape stared at him for a long moment, incredulous, then looked around frustrated as if wanting to ask help from someone to understand what the hell was going on. His hands fisted for a moment then he took a deep breath.

Snape looked beautiful when he was on the verge of losing control. His long straight hair was in a mess, clothes ruffled, cheeks heated, endless eyes glimmering with want. There was such immense power in him, Harry had _felt it_ , and it was still there, all under the surface, vibrating.

Snape glared at him for a few more moments, then huffed, a smile even almost crossed his lips. He said nothing though, just fished the silver case out of his pocked and threw it at Harry’s chest.

Harry caught it, opened it with satisfaction. The moment the cigarette was between his lips, Snape snapped his finger and held the little flame out for Harry to use it.

When the end of the cigarette finally glowed up, Harry leaned back, breathing out the smoke. The cigarette tasted nothing of mint, and now he knew why. It was the taste of Snape’s lips, not the filter’s.

“Is this your brilliant plan?” Snape asked. “ _Tease_ me, until I snap and devour you?”

Harry shrugged, innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Or _to whom_ you are talking to, either, it seems.” Snape said then slowly stepped between Harry’s legs. “I’m a Slytherin, Potter, I played these games way before you were even born.”

“You asked me to leave, so here I am, leaving. Well… sort of.” He said, given he had no intension to go just yet.

He passed the cigarette to Snape. They just smoked for a while in quiet.

“You know this doesn’t change anything, right?” Harry said quietly. “I still trust you.” He looked down into the dark abyss beneath him, feeling the pull of nothingness. “Just because you’re… attracted to me, it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t trust you. Besides, it was quite inevitable, given…”

Snape raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you think a little too highly of yourself?” He asked with a huff.

Harry laughed, “I meant what your magic feels like when we touch. It’s the same for you too, isn’t it? Like flying, just better.”

Snape nodded. “My attraction to you has nothing to do with my magic though.” He let out a dark chuckle as he said, “I doubt I’d have taught Weasley Animagic the same way I taught you.”

Harry shrugged. “He wouldn’t even have let you. Unlike me.”

“I knew it was wrong,” Snape stated. “From the very first moment you stepped into my office. And it still is. Your closeness does nothing but rattle me.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I think I did know it, too. Something changed when we started fighting, that’s why I think it’s pointless to go back to it.”

“Believe me, it’s still the easier alternative.”

Harry looked up from the cigarette that was just passed to him. Their eyes connected over the slithering smoke. Harry took the cig between his lips, sucked on it, cheeks hollowing.

His gaze went from eye to eye, trying to read Snape’s expression.

“You do think of it, too, don’t you,” he said with a sigh as he blew the smoke gently against Snape’s face.

“Think of what?” Snape said trying to pretend naivety, but his voice could never sound innocent.

Harry licked his upper lip, grinned, then shook his head. He looked over Snape’s body, he was still hard, he didn’t even try to hide it. Neither did Harry.

Hands ran up his thigh, gentle, just a soft caress.

“You watch my lips every time I put this shit in my mouth.”

“Oh, I’m just admiring your technique.”

Harry snorted. “Blatant lies.” He thought for a moment, took another small gasp of the cig then asked, “Is it weird to…?” He nodded towards Snape’s cock.

Snape just raised an eyebrow questioningly. Fucking bastard was enjoying this.

“To suck someone.” Harry trudged on relentless.

Snape’s eyes flashed, then he suggested darkly, “Why not drop to your knees and give it a try?”

Harry shivered and a rush of arousal washed over him _. Oh god, yes_ , he thought before he realized Snape was only teasing him.

The professor bit into his lower lip not to smile, then answered. “It is not weird, if you have the taste for it.” His palms caressed Harry’s thighs, and though they still remained tender, there was nothing calming in the motion. Black eyes that seemed to sparkle with a distant fire looked up at him from beneath long black lashes. “Do _you_ have a taste for it?” Snape asked slowly.

If he didn’t until today, he sure as hell was interested now. But Snape didn’t need to know that.

“And the other stuff?” He asked instead.

“The _other stuff_ , Mr. Potter?” Snape echoed mockingly.

“You know what I mean.”

“I still want you to say it out loud.”

“Why? Because it’s embarrassing?”

“No, to get you accustomed to the idea.”

Harry choked a little and couldn’t answer. He swallowed hard. This wasn’t a surprise. Snape made it clear what he wanted just a little while ago. Why was still a dragon coiling and twisting in Harry’s belly?

He concentrated then blurted out, “To be with a bloke. To… to have sex with another guy. Is it weird? Painful?”

A smile flickered across Snape’s lips, but he answered seriously. “It’s… different. With adequate preparations, you do not even feel pain. Regarding the weirdness of it, if you feel uncomfortable doing anything, may it be with me or anyone else, you have to make that clear. It doesn’t necessarily have to be more painful than a similar act between a woman and a man. Unless that is how you want it.” He added with a dangerous smirk.

Harry made a noncommittal huff. He wouldn’t know about that, would he.

Snape’s expression changed suddenly, became assessing, thoughtful.

“Could it be,” he said slowly with a soft chuckle, “that our dear Mr. Potter is still a virgin?”

Harry looked away, suddenly flushed. “So what?” He murmured.

With two fingers on his chin, Snape made Harry look back at him. “You never slept with her?”

Harry didn’t know what it was, the fact Snape didn’t – _couldn’t_ – say Ginny’s name, or the tone that wasn’t mocking at all as Harry had expected but was tender, affectionate, but he did answer in the end. “No. Apparently I was more interested in learning to fly with you, then in having sex with my girlfriend.”

Snape swallowed, he almost looked anxious for a moment. His hands slipped from Harry’s thighs to his waist. Harry fidgeted slightly on the balustrade.

He knew what was about to come, yet even that couldn’t prepare him.

Snape leaned in slowly, head tilted slightly. Black eyes closed half-way and so did Harry’s; then on, it was just sensations.

Hot breath on his lips, the scent of fresh rain in his nose. His hands went from the marble over to Snape’s chest, then slithered to his shoulders. One went even beyond and slid up to Snape’s neck, fingertips brushing against soft, feather-like tresses.

Snape kissed him tenderly. His lips barely touched Harry’s lower lip then already moved away just to taste his upper one. It was passionate, yet still restrained, fluttering with a promise of more. Harry only felt a tease of a tongue sliding against his lip, then Snape was moving again, kissing him elsewhere.

With Ginny, he was always conscious, _there_ , feeling embarrassed about the sounds, anything. Not now though. Snape kissed differently somehow, as if he had till the end of time to explore, he lingered there, didn’t pull back right away. He wanted to feel, flavour every taste. Harry wanted just the same.

The taste of mint wasn’t overwhelming now, wasn’t vivid, just a memory, reminiscence of tea. Beneath it, a much stronger, heavier taste was Snape himself. Heady, addictive, like his soft lips against Harry’s.

Harry felt something flow down his throat, pool into his stomach, like the taste of Felix Felicis, of liquid luck, but better, always better, better than anything else. As they kissed leisurely, he had sunken somewhere deep as if the abyss behind him would have pulled him down.

“I faintly remember you starting the night with _I won't touch you_.” Harry said feeling breathless when they pulled slightly apart. He didn’t want to open his eyes, afraid that whatever feeble vision this might be, it would evaporate.

“I, too, seem to remember something along those lines,” Snape admitted then kissed him again, this time tongue going just a little bit deeper, teasing, lapping against Harry’s, carefully, _innocently_ as if this, any of this, anything that Snape ever did could be innocent. Like his voice, his person, too, was far from innocent and as Harry pushed his tongue into Snape’s mouth, he experienced that first hand.

Hot, wet, heady – still not a battle, still not raw, but they were there, tiptoeing on the border of both of them wanting to move just a little bit more, just a little bit faster, just a little bit harder.

The first moment Harry felt teeth nibbling on his lower lip he grunted out, the dragon in his belly lifting its big head, fidgeting agitated. Snape’s hand too, moved restless on his body, wanting to touch everything, yet keeping that seemingly innocent picture that this was nothing more than a simple kiss, nothing more dangerous, not yet.

Oh, but it was, and Harry knew it perfectly. Snape’s resolve was crumbling, kiss by kiss, every lick against those thin lips took something away from the man, of his ability to say no, to stay sane, responsible. How could this ever remain pure when they both wanted to touch, seize, take and taste.

Harry could barely breathe, Snape kissed the line of his neck, then when he came up, he dragged his tongue over the skin. Harry felt his prickly five-o’clock shadow burn his jaw. Yeah, not like a girl at all, firmer, stronger, leaner – better, oh how much better.

Snape pressed closer to him and Harry hooked his legs around the man, pulling him in. Snape was breathing so fast as if they had been duelling not kissing, though truth be told, their hearts surely beat fast enough, just like after a fight.

“Oh god, Severus…” Harry moaned, mouth seeking out the other man’s. When did he become _Severus_? When was that moment when Snape, the vile, bitter man ceased to exist? Just now? In the Astronomy Tower? Even before? On a field glimmering with the white lights of death? Did it matter?

He had been there now for a while, standing at the edge of the precipice, toes curling around the hard rock. To learn to fly he had to first learn to fall. He might have needed a little push, but he knew he could trust him. Severus could never let him crash.

The end was still far away and once again, Harry let himself over to that tumbling sensation that occurred when falling. There was something freeing in it, to have blind faith that if he did fall, iridescent wings of a shadow would surely lift him.

And one day perhaps, even fall with him.


	22. Bit by Bit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You didn't really think, I'd leave you without some holiday smut, did you?_
> 
> _Happy holidays and see you next year!_

## XXII: Bit by Bit

 

They kissed slow and reserved and Harry was almost thankful for that because suddenly Snape’s fingers were skimming his erection and he keened. Severus kissed him through it, all the way, not letting him pull away for even a moment as long as his hand was moving up and down on Harry’s cock. He slid his fingers against the hardness, rubbed it through thick jeans making Harry moan into the kisses.

Harry pulled away, feeling dizzy, his mind void of oxygen, his heart drumming against its cage. He pushed his fingers through his hair, all ten of them, then looked up at Snape. He didn’t look any better.

“Well, at least we know you were right.”

“I’m not often wrong,” Snape noted licking his suddenly swollen lips and Harry wanted to do just that too, preferably till the rest of his life. “So, what exactly was I right about?”

“This being wonderful. And breath-taking.”

Snape’s huffed. “Wait till we get to the wild part,” he noted almost anxiously, and given just what this kiss did to them, Harry suspected anything wilder might have him suffer through a heart attack.

“I just want to lean back and fall with you,” Harry said looking down into the darkness behind them. He would like that. To just keep falling with Snape, never reaching the bottom, never letting go.

Snape’s eyes racked over his body took in every inch, before he said almost with urgency, “Do it.”

“What?”

“Do it, lean back. You said you trust me, go on, prove it. Lean back.” There was something, an almost manic expression on Snape’s face, but Harry, legs still around Snape’s waist, ignored it and let his body slowly fall back. He gave control over to gravity and let himself be pulled in.

Severus held his waist, not that he needed to, as Harry could balance himself perfectly fine sitting on the balustrade as long as he had himself anchored to Snape. Only half of his body was above nothingness, and given he could change any minute, the danger wasn’t all that high.

Yet, as Harry hung there over who knows how many feet of air, hair being gently brushed by vagrant air-current, he had to admit, there was something thrilling in it. Blood rushed to his head as he opened his arms wide like he would do with his wings.

Why did he want to learn to fly? He was perfectly fine on a broom. It was faster than a bird, served its purpose well, especially his Firebolt. And yet, he longed to be up in the sky alone on his own, out on his own power, sustained by nothing else just the strength of his own wings, gliding with the winds. Was the difference so much?

_It was_ , a voice told him. To be up there, out there in the world unaided. Falling, tumbling never sailing entirely smoothly, letting the currents take him to wherever he needed to be or fight against them if he knew his home was in the other direction. There was something liberating in flying on his own, something he had never knew he missed.

Snape let go of his waist, his hands running up on Harry’s chest, pressing down just enough that Harry felt their weight but not to outbalance him. Severus leaned over him and Harry was about to pull back, but the little jerk of Snape’s head stopped him.

“Before you even think,” Snape started as his hands pushed Harry’s shirt and jacket just a little further up, “that this is a sign that your bloody idiotic plan is working, let me tell you it doesn’t.”

One moment of pure confusion went over Harry, then Snape kissed his stomach. Harry jolted upright right away.

“Severus, what are you doing?”

“Well,” Snape said, pushing Harry slightly back over nothingness, before he leaned after him and kissed him hotly. “Lucky for you, I have a taste for cock. Very much so.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned as he felt a hand skimming his erection. “This won't be like the Astronomy Tower, right? You won't push me? You won't let me go?

Severus looked up at him, black eyes burning with desire. “Never.”

The February wind was cold against his skin, but nothing could chill his blood. Severus’ body over him was a better medicine against freezing weather than any warming charm could be. His mouth against Harry’s cock felt hot enough to melt the snow below and those brightly glimmering eyes would surely bring spring.

Harry shuddered still as Severus kissed his belly. Goosebumps grew on his skin as those lips, still swollen from their previous kisses traced lines over his stomach. Snape held him by the waist, but his body still arced over the dark abyss like a Greek archway and his abdominal muscles were tensed like string on a bow.

Snape licked lower and lower, tongue sweeping underneath the waistband of Harry’s jeans. Crooked teeth sunk into that little soft flesh Harry had over his bones, his cock gave an excited twitch and Harry cried out, his voice carried away by the wind.

He looked down, the nothingness below called to him. It was almost like being weightless, just drifting, but oh god, he felt the weight – the weight of hands, of lips, of tongue and teeth, even the weight of harsh breathes exhaled over his skin. It all weighed on him, their mass no more than a feather each which in the end would help him fly.

He tried lifting his head, but it was too heavy. All the blood and all the thoughts, his doubts and fears of the future like a burden pulled him down, and only his emotions, light as a bird gave him strength to look at Severus.

Snape ignored everything. Harry had never seen him so focused, perhaps not even when he watched him brew.

He remembered a little boy he had never met, only seen in memories, bent over books and cauldron, shrunken so others may not notice him. He hid from an abusive father, from bullies, from the world as well, hid so well in fact no one had found him until now. He had changed in his exile though, grew up, grew his wings, became bigger, stronger, more resilient like a virus that now attacked Harry’s brain, rewrote his whole structure, turned him upside-down, inside-out and yet still created a Harry who was truer to himself.

Snape noticed the observation and looked up. He was a man now – how could he not be, with another man’s legs hooked around his back, eyes like a predator’s devouring its pray – but the boy was still in there, lingering at the edge of his consciousness. He was behind every fear, every word shouted in anger, he was the petulance, he built the wall to keep the world outside. But the wall wasn’t intact anymore, there was a Harry shaped hole in it. It was that boy also, who had hated Harry. Not the man.

The man was different. Calmer, more controlled. Surprisingly so. It was like they had grew up together, him and Snape in the course of the last seven years. Childish hatred at first grew into something larger, that picked them up and swept them away. Snape had outgrown the child, he must have. He was braver than his anxiety, stronger than his fears, more than a sum of childhood memories. He was a man of his own desires, wants, actions.

“I don’t think it was an accident that I ended up next to you that dawn. I don’t think it was Hogwarts, or destiny, either. But it wasn’t an accident. This couldn’t be just an accident.”

“That’s a profound thought to have at a moment like this,” Snape said, lips quirking, just a little bit. But he didn’t deny it. He looked down for a moment, one brow rose as his gaze shifted over Harry’s body then returned to his face. “I might be doing something wrong if you can still think thoughts like that.”

Harry smiled at first, then it grew from there. He watched the man, _how dare he_ , to think there could be anything wrong with this. Then he laughed. He laughed, loud and happy. Sitting on a balustrade, arched half-way above an abyss he just laughed like a maniac. His tears welled up, he wiped them away. Severus just watched him mesmerized. What was this, if not happiness.

Harry leaned there, captured the lips, they were his, made for him, just for him. He kissed with intent, with purpose, he kissed softly, sweetly. Tears still rolled on his cheeks.

“What’s happening?” Snape asked, understanding the importance of the moment yet still moving on a parallel line with it, missing it with only a hairbreadth.

“Nothing much,” Harry answered. _I’m just falling in love with you. Slowly. Piece by piece. You’ll see soon._

Snape kissed off a teardrop. “Do you want me to stop?” He whispered, gently offering a way out.

To stop? This? That was impossible. This was unleashed now, freed of its cage and even if Harry wanted to close it back up, he doubted he could ever catch up with it.

“No, Severus,” He used the name consciously now, on purpose, putting just a little emphasise on it. “I don’t want you to stop.” 

The little pressure of the thumbs over his hipbones told him to lean back. He trusted his body onto this man with almost frightening ease. Why had he never been afraid? Logic said he should have at least be a bit cautious around Snape, always a Slytherin at heart, but he had trusted him since the end of the war. Was it the truth? The memories? A part of his magic in Snape?

Their gaze connected again. What pulled him to Snape? What had pulled him to the Half-Blood Prince? His intelligence? His darkness? His wit? They could have been friends from the start. Harry would have admired Snape. It was better this way. He relished the intensity of all their meetings. He savoured the taste of Snape’s anger on the tip of his tongue, like he did now with his kisses.

Harry watched with incredulous amusement as his belt unhooked itself. The button of his jeans popped open. The zipper lowered itself.

He laughed. Such immense power resides in this man, he could destroy walls, lives, conquer half the world with the help of it, yet this is what he uses it for? To undress Harry? Outrageous.

_There goes another bit. Another piece of me is falling for you, for your stupid heart. How dare you take me away from myself._ _Must you be selfish? There won't be anything remaining here unless you give you to me. Just bit by bit. Or all at once._

Severus could be proud of himself. Thoughts flew of Harry’s mind the moment hungry mouth was lowered onto the top of his cock. He bent back, let the strong arms hold his weight. _You might as well. I have more me in you now, than I have in me._ He concentrated instead on the sensations.

Severus kissed the head of his cock. He had an easy enough job, it was perfectly outlined through the stretch of his jeans. He dragged his mouth over the length, _dragged_ , slowly, languidly. Teasingly. He sucked, just a little, still Harry felt that dragon coil up in his stomach.

Magic pulled his pants off, and once uncovered, his cock sprang up demanding attention from those lips. Snape never touched him, not with his hands at least. They remained on Harry’s waist, fingertips digging into his lower back as he was held half-way above nothingness, pieces of him falling off gradually.

His eyes though, those endless blacks, those caressed. Harry could feel it. Maybe it was magic too, or just his imagination, he was high enough on endorphin and adrenalin to have hallucinations. They wandered up on his shaft, hesitated on the tip. Flashed across to Harry’s green gaze, making sure he was watching, then, _only then_ , Snape gave a small lick, no more than a test, a sample of the goods.

“Good god,” he moaned, “You are more delicious than the Kiss of Death.”

Harry’s body shuddered. His mind was so focused on that one tiny motion the rest of the world was forgotten. Then Snape licked again, longer now, swiping his tongue all the way up, like a child ate melting ice cream on a hot summer day. They were no children, it was a winter night, but Harry was melting, all right.

“God fucking Christ,” Harry cried out.

Severus laughed, just a soft chuckle in that deep, velvet voice, but Harry’s ears rang with it for days to come. _Another piece lost._

“I _know_ you’ve done this before,” Snape said, but of course, his words meant a lot more. There was a question there.

“Not like this,” Harry answered. “Not with you.”

“Is there a difference?”

There it was, the child, the little boy, the insecurity in him, the doubts that talked to him, whispered to him, untrue voices in his head.

“Of course,” Harry said softly. “A vast difference.”

Lips quirked and the little boy disappeared, went back to the dungeons. The man remained and that wall around him crumbled. The Harry-sized hole became big as a mountain troll. Harry smiled back.

The lips, those lips, those kissable, beautiful lips returned to his cock. They kissed, they drifted, caressed. _How_? Ginny had sucked him, it was good. Snape hadn’t even taken him in his mouth, and it was better. Soft lips glided across the tip of his cock, a stroke, a kiss, a hot breath against it and Harry begged. “Oh please, oh god please.”

Wild heat enveloped his cock. Only the shock kept him from coming right there. Snape sucked, lightly, tongue pressed against the soft head. He moved it, swiped it inside the slit, sucked out the precome.

“ _Holy fuck_!” Harry’s back threatened to break.

The deeper down Severus went, the deeper Harry fell. Endless and eternal. Darkness so vivid it became light. Turquoise and blue, vibrating, all around them. His eyes were open. There was no magic. And yet, he could feel it, everywhere. Glowing, bringing light, bringing warmth.

He keened, he hummed, shuddering. Wanted to cry out, to scream, but he couldn’t. His mouth was open, but no sound came out, when it did, it was just, “ _Severus_ …”

The sounds in his ears, dirty, exciting; the eyes that bore into him, wild and aflame; how could this evoke a greater burning inside him than that immense magic?

Snape let him go, Harry fell, hands seized his thighs. Death grip opened them wider, pulled him apart as Severus took him in balls deep. Harry was in the air, floating nothing more than feathers on the wind. His lower back barely even touched the balustrade. The world tipped.

“Fucking hell,” he gasped. Nothingness was above, stars were below; stars and Severus.

His head pulsed, too much blood. “Oh god, please,” he cried into the darkness. His cock pulsed, too, Severus moved, raspy flesh against his shaft, rubbing down on the tip, sucking.

“Oh hell,” Harry came apart, flew gradually into the abyss above him. And Severus swallowed him up, little by little, every drop. He could feel it, not just his magic, something else in there now, too. _Oh god yes, mine. In you, like a virus, see? You’ll feel it, too._

Stillness, perfectness and chaos all around. Noise, high pitched buzzing and silence, deep and echoing. Did he lose his mind? Did he lose himself?

_What are you doing to me? Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to deserve you? To deserve this? Your trust? Your wings? Why, Severus, why?_

When he came around, he was among arms, tender and gentle, soft hands caressed his back.

“What happened?”

“Too much blood in your head happened.”

_You happened. Don’t you dare believe it was anything else._

“Are you all right?”

Harry laughed. He laughed incredulous, happy. Blissful. He looked at Severus. “How can you ask that? You’ve _just_ sucked me to oblivion.”

Severus snorted. He watched Harry. He smiled, not just quirking lips, but a real smile, eyes twinkling, dimples showing. It made Harry’s toes curl.

“There’ll come a time,” said the deep voice slowly, soft at first, darkening gradually, “not the first time, but there will come a time, when I’ll fuck you _raw_.”

Harry’s breath hitched. His whole body hummed in agreement.

“I’ll make you feel every strike of lightning inside me, every electric sting of your magic that courses in me. It _is_ your fault, as much as it is mine and you deserve to feel it.”

This wasn’t the little boy, this wasn’t real anger. A child takes, but a man gives, and Severus clearly wanted to give back a little. This was want, not just lust, not just a physical need but something deeper, something a soul offered and demanded in return.

“Both of us deserves to feel this,” Harry said then kissed him deeply enough that even the little boy would feel it.

“Stay the night,” Snape breathed against his lips. “You might as well.”

He wanted to fall, too, Harry could tell. The little boy held him back. His fears and doubts, the whispers telling him lies, that buzzed around in his mind like annoying beetles on a quiet night. It was dangerous. He would leave. What if? Is it a joke? Can he love me? Will he? Harry could all but hear the dark whispers of the little boy.

“Yes,” he told Severus and hopefully the boy heard him, too.

They went inside, showered – separately. It was strangely domestic. Harry was already in bed by the time Snape appeared steam like smoke of cloud behind him whirling like his robes, grey not black now. He was wearing old, worn, grey pyjamas, long sleeved, with buttons – always the buttons. Harry just put back on his boxers, he wasn’t afraid he would be cold this night.

He was towelling his hair dry and Harry suddenly felt the absurd need to make him sit between his leg and let him brush out those long tresses.

“It’s too long. I’ll need to cut it,” Severus noted when he noticed the attention.

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry said quickly from the bed. He folded his arms across his chest when he noticed Snape’s smirk.

He let go of the towel which drifted back to the bathroom on its own. He came to bed, sat down on the edge, his back to Harry. It seemed he was gathering courage to climb underneath the covers, though why, Harry couldn’t understand. After what happened tonight, Snape should have welcomed the bed – with or without Harry in it.

Harry gave him a minute. This had to be Severus’ decision. He didn’t want to force it, no matter how much he wanted to reach out and touch that lean back, how much he wanted to kneel behind him and wrap his arms around the man.

“Why is this so hard,” Snape said at last. “I want you here.”

_Who are you? How come you’re so honest?_

“I can leave,” Harry offered. He could give time. He could.

“Don’t you dare. I want this.”

“Then come here.”

_Do it. Send the boy back to the dungeon. Be here with me up in the tower._

Snape turned towards him, one leg on the bed already. Little by little. It was all right.

Severus sighed shuddering. He was a man who, if he allowed himself to fall, would fall hard. And Harry wanted to be there when it happened.

“I…” Snape swallowed. Black eyes watched Harry. “I want you here.” He repeated not as passionate as before, more thoughtful. He was tasting the words as much as tasting the idea itself.

_How does it feel, Severus, to say it? Is it liberating? Is it damning?_

Harry dropped his hand onto the bed, let it fall near Severus. He was there, a crutch, if needed. Severus watched it, the palm, motionless, just there, barely even shaking. He turned a bit more. Reached for it. He didn’t grasp it like a drowning man seized a rope. He touched it tentatively, fingertips fluttering, sensing.

There was no electricity, no sparks. It was all timid, yet beautiful. Only fingertips brushing his digits at first, dashing over Harry’s palm, just to return to the top. Severus took the crutch in the end, holding only Harry’s fingers in his hand, just a bit, not fully, not taking all, just a little for now.

He looked up, black eyes unguarded. He was nervous. Shy.

_Shy_.

_There will come a time, when I’ll fuck you raw –_ that man. The man who had told him that, who had looked him in the eyes and said those words now watched him _shyly_.

_Who are you?_ The question was there again.

“Severus…” Harry whispered. He didn’t dare say anything else. Just the name. The name of the boy and the man as well. There wasn’t one without the other. He either convinced both of them or neither would come.

Snape leaned down on the bed, pressed a kiss to the middle of Harry’s palm, then pressed the side of his face to it. He curled around Harry’s hand like a child nestled close to the warmth of the fire or the body of his mother.

Harry edged closer, lifted the head onto his chest. Severus let him. He didn’t pull away, just let himself be taken, be held, embraced.

“Nox,” Harry whispered, welcoming the gentle blanket of the darkness.

Logs cracked in the fireplace and he caressed Severus into sleep. He stroked his hair until all the little curls were fully straightened and it was dry and soft like iridescent feathers.

Harry might have been the one who grew wings, who learned to fly. Yet it was still Severus, it seemed, who bit by bit regained his freedom.


	23. Dawn of a New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hope the new year is going well for everyone! Let me know what you think of the new chapter!_   
>  _Love you all :)_

# Part Three: Falling

 

_"We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down."  
— _ _Kurt Vonnegut_

 

## XXIII: Dawn of a New Day 

 

Harry woke up in what he thought was the middle of the night. The head that lay on his chest still, stirred.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Snape croaked, his voice still half asleep.

“You can't sleep?” Harry asked fingers automatically drifting through black tresses.

“I have to wake up,” Snape said and leaned up on the bed. His long hair fell over his shoulder, pooled onto Harry’s belly, dripping slowly to the side. “Reality awaits.”

“It is true then,” Harry yawned. “You _are_ a vampire. Why else would you go out this late?”

Snape huffed, bent his head, kissed Harry’s stomach. “I have my prey.” He looked up, lips descending again, dangerously close to Harry’s nipple. “Right where I want it.”

Harry sighed, long and deep, his body, his mind both still half way among dreams and now it seemed reality had become just like that, too, a fantasy.

“Besides, it’s not late anymore, it’s early. It’s almost six.” He said, brushing his hair all the way to one side.

“Blimey, that is early…” Harry grimaced. “Can I somehow convince you to stay?”

His hand lifted and with it his body, too. He rose and pressed a small kiss to Snape’s mouth. He was welcomed and they fell back onto the bed.

“No,” Snape said, minutes later, breathless, tussled, pyjama shirt half-way undone. “I have to be in London in an hour.”

Harry let him go. He sat up too, stretching.

“You can stay.”

He remembered a man a long time ago who wouldn’t have let him stay alone in his office for five minutes, let alone in his bedroom. Maybe they did grow up together.

Harry just shook his head. “I’ll go get breakfast.”

Harry stayed in bed until Snape dressed then he turned into an owl, too lazy yet to dress up and walked him out of the castle. Snape strolled across the grounds, robes like a menacing cloud bellowed behind him. Harry glided after him, making small circles around the man not to travel too ahead. They parted at the gates outside and Harry swished into the air to quickly check if anyone was around.

No one was there, just them, the whole world had emptied, it seemed just to give them a couple more minutes. He shifted back, stood in front of Snape in only his shorts, barefoot on the snow-covered ground.

He was lifted in the air, not much just an inch, Snape’s magic like a blanket wrapped around him against the cold February dawn.

They stood face to face, the same height now, with the little bit of magic. Harry brushed away the black ink from Severus’ face and placed a kiss there instead. Then Snape disappeared and Harry turned back into an owl, before his feet touched the ground again.

He flew around for a while, then swished back into the dormitory. Ron opened the window for him, didn’t ask many questions luckily, though he did have a smug smile on the edge of his lips. Especially since Harry lost his clothes since their last meeting.

“I reckon you didn’t just talk this time,” he said quietly, not to wake Neville.

Harry dressed up, then shook his head. “No.”

“Wicked.” He grinned then high-fived Harry as he passed him on the way to the bathroom.  

Harry went down to have breakfast. The Great Hall was still empty, even the teachers mostly stayed away. Only Flitwick, Wallace and McGonagall were there, the latter drinking a glass of milk. Harry waved to her then sat to his table. She offered a tight-lipped smile in return.

 He put some eggs and bacon onto his plate and started eating, trying to keep his mind away from all the things that happened last night, otherwise the dragon inside him would wake again and not even a gulp of tea would squeeze down his throat.

Wallace joined him on the way out, casually asked about his well-being, though Harry could tell he wanted to talk about something.

“I may have an interesting project for you,” he said finally. Harry’s interest perked. “You don’t need to help, if you don’t want to. N.E.W.T.s and everything, I’d understand. You can refuse. I had just a little talk with Professor Flitwick and it turns out he’s a duelling champion. Did you know?”

“Yes, I heard,” Harry answered with a shudder. The mention of that brought back some unwanted memories of Lockhart and the Duelling Club.

“Wouldn’t it be fun?” Wallace said, sounding excited.

“What?”

“A Duelling Club, of course! You, him, and me, one lesson a week. I was a champion, too, a long, long time ago, when I was your age. I loved it. It was the best sport. The professor and I would teach them the basics, then they would practice with you. It would only take up one evening of your week. You don’t even have to come to every session, if you feel like. But these kids love you and I’ve seen you with them. It would be a great opportunity for everyone.”

Wallace wasn’t like Lockhart he really knew what he was doing. Harry would have loved the idea, would even look up to the man himself, if not for the fact that he hated Snape. He hoped he would learn to forgive. A man like him would do so much good to Hogwarts.

“Why do I have the feeling you have a secret agenda, Professor?”

Wallace laughed, his eyes twinkled as he observed Harry. He had a mischievous smile as he said, “I know you want to be an Auror. But have you ever considered teaching, instead?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “No, not really.”

“You know, at the beginning of term, I was ready to just let you walk out of my class. To think I almost passed out on this great opportunity. Even I leaned from you. You’re great at this.”

Harry thought about it, but then just asked, “Why didn’t you let me walk out? What changed you mind?”

“It pains me to admit, but Snape. He didn’t let me. He said, if he knows it so well, why not let him teach it. And here we are.”

Wallace stood, lifting his hand as if surrendering, apologizing.

He motioned towards the Head Table. “We’re all thinking it, Potter. I’m just putting it out there.” He backed away, his encouraging smile never faltering.

o.O.o

Wallace wasn’t joking about the Duelling Club. That afternoon, right after classes, Harry received an owl and all three of them sat down. Wallace’s enthusiasm caught on to Flitwick and eventually Harry, too. They agreed to start next Saturday. The only question was, with what. They needed to come up with something that would pull in people even though it was the middle of the semester already, show them why duelling was fun.

Harry’s experience with it, with proper duelling at least, wasn’t that good, he used to duel against either Voldemort or Malfoy – one was mostly about survival, the other… well… just a childish feud. He would call his fights with Snape more or a less a duel, and maybe this was what came closest to what the actual sport meant. They weren’t fighting to hurt each other, though not even to win.

Harry lay in his bed that night, restless.

Thoughts of the Duelling Club soon turned to teaching. Harry couldn’t get it out of his head. Not an Auror? He never really considered anything else besides being an Auror, a dark wizard catcher. It seemed like the good thing to do back then, when Moody suggested it. Fake-Moody, an impostor, a Death Eater. And now another one unknowingly suggested a different option.

_Why is it that everywhere I turn you look back at me?_

Neville and Ron were fast asleep, but Harry could not sink back to oblivion. He missed the weight of that head on his chest, the soft, feather-like tresses from beneath his fingers. Was this the future? Nights spent in a sleepless haze alone somewhere in London, while Snape stayed here?

Even if he did teach, where? He didn’t even know where the other schools in England were. Leave the country? Leave Snape? Was that even an option? He couldn’t come to Hogwarts, there were no open positions. Then what? As an Auror at least he’d be in London. He could come visit once in a while, daily, every night.

There was a knock on the window and Harry sat up in bed. He rummaged around for his glasses and by the time he found them, and looked out there to see what was making the noise, the rapping had continued, louder even and Ron and Neville stirred too.

“What the hell,” Ron murmured sleepily.

Harry jumped out of the bed and rushed to the window.

“Nothing,” he said, as he turned the handle and opened it. The black bird with his luminous feathers swished in silently like a shadow. Harry held out his arm for him to perch on.

Neville climbed to the end of his bed. “So pretty! Is it yours?”

He tried to pet him, but Harry quickly snatched away his hand. “Careful, he bites.” He said.

The grackle screeched at Neville, who pulled his hand back right away. “Oh god, what a menace.”

Harry took it to his bed without another word, or even a glance at Ron. He didn’t dare. He was sure Ron had recognised the bird right away. He was _too_ quiet.

The bird hopped off his arm and swished over Ron’s bed, dropping something onto it. Ron lifted it to the air, examined it. It was a cigarette case, black and silver. Ron took it as an insult.

“Hey, you don’t need to _bribe_ me,” he grunted.

The grackle squawked at him, then landed on Harry’s pillow. Harry sat back down onto his bed, pulled the curtains.

They said goodnight again.

Harry lay back under the covers and the bird jumped onto his chest. He sat down there, without a word – a squeak, or even a twitter – nestled himself into Harry’s blanket then tucked his head under his wing.

Harry just stared at him.

_How dare you, you fluffed up ball of feather. How dare you come to me like this? I can’t hold you like this._

He seemed so peaceful like this, truly just like a little bird who had taken refuge. Even his plumage seemed fluffier as if he had tried to hide from the cold night outside

“You look fat,” Harry told him. The bird snapped up his head, yellow eyes glinted at him insulted.

Ron snorted into his pillow, then continued to snigger for a while.

Harry bit his lip to keep himself from laughing out loud. This was ludicrous. Snape was in their dormitory, in his _bed_.

They waited. Maybe an hour passed, Harry didn’t pay attention he just watched those sharp yellow eyes. Neville started snoring, but Ron was still up, turning and twisting in his bed over and over. Every time he moved, the gleaming yellow eyes snapped at him, glared at him through thick velvet curtains.

Suddenly, Ron jumped out of his bed, Harry heard his bare feet slap against the wooden floor.

“I’ll go smoke one,” Ron whispered as he tiptoed to the door and opened it. “You have ten minutes.”

“Make it twenty and I’ll arrange for you and Granger a free weekend out of school,” Snape said in a soft voice. Harry and the mattress both grunted at the sudden weight of a full-grown adult on them.

“Bloody fuck,” Ron murmured sounding surprised as if only now did it dawn on him truly who the black bird was. He knew of course, but he didn’t really grasp it until now, until he heard the voice.

_You and me both mate,_ Harry thought.

The moment the door closed lips were on his. “Needed to see you,” was all the explanation he received. Not that he needed more. He kissed hard and clung to Severus.

_Oh god, now? Here? Why are you doing this to me?_

A day ago, it was ‘won’t touch you’ and now Severus couldn’t seem to take his hands off Harry? What was happening to them? Harry had an explanation, he wasn’t himself, barely anymore. He had pieces of himself missing, wandering over to Snape with every kiss, every brush of Snape’s palm on his bare skin.

_But what’s your excuse Severus Snape?_

How did Severus explain to Harry, to himself even that he was here now? Not that he necessarily needed to, he was welcome, he could always come. Always.

Harry’s hand was between their bodies before he felt the hardness press against his legs.

He didn’t think, he didn’t want to. Thank god, there weren’t many buttons, Snape was only wearing a shirt and his black pants, and Harry freed him, frantically reaching beneath layers until his shaking fingers wrapped around something hard as steel.

“Oh god,” he cried, _he_ , not Snape who was being stroked but _he_ because he was holding another man’s cock and he liked the sensation. He wanted to look down to see it. He wanted to turn them around and taste it. He had a taste for it too, it seemed. He wanted it, oh how much he wanted it.

He was so occupied with exploring the manhood in his hands he barely noticed Snape reaching beneath his pyjamas, too. Hands envelop him in a warm hold, he was released from his confines then they both gripped, shifted, reached whatever they could. Harry couldn’t say who was touching who, it was a mess, a heady, beautiful, chaotic kind of mess, perfect for a night like this, for a man like Snape.

It was so desperate. Last night was about giving, about holding back; this was urgent. And not just because of Ron.

_What changed? You? Me? Both of us?_

This _was_ about taking. They both took – pieces from each other. They took kisses, demanded attention. Severus thrust down, hips rolling and Harry cried out.

Neville snorted in his dream and Harry was silenced, a palm pressed against his mouth. His gaze connected with black eyes, fire flashed across them. Their bodies moved, was it him, was it Snape? Who knew, who cared, it was good. He bit the palm, Snape hissed, but he didn’t stop, didn’t pull away.

They shifted, pressed, pulled and stroked, it was quiet, quiet enough, Neville’s snores were louder. Harry was almost there.

Lips were at his ear, he could feel them move, the heavy breathing was hitching occasionally. He suspected what was coming, a dirty secret, something highly inappropriate.

“I can't sleep. Not without you.” Severus whispered instead.

_I can't exist without you._ The thought occurred in response.

There was nothing just brightness and he was coming. His whimpers were almost sobs, he tried to breathe through it, but it was too hard. He looked up, black eyes watched him, stared at him saw beyond him. Harry watched him wide eyed not wanting to miss the moment again.

“You’re so….” _Hot_. _Beautiful_.

Severus' whole body quivered, he bit his lip, but his grunts still were loud, his deep voice carried in the dark. Harry could feel it with his hand. The hard member twitched weakly on his palm and his fingers didn’t stop, he did not allow mercy, he kept rubbing him. Severus keened his body jerked violently. He was _so_ _beautiful_ like this.

While Snape was trying to catch his breath, curious, Harry pulled his hand back up from between their bodies. Severus watched him, the blackness of his eyes bled into the darkness of the room. It was almost surreal.

Harry watched the opalescent fluid on his palm. It was just like his. Nothing special, seen the stuff a million times. And yet…

Snape made him into a different person. He had so many different needs now. The need to kiss Severus, hold him. Fly with him. Protect him. Feel Severus around him, in him.

Severus gripped his wrist. His black eyes flashed.

To taste him. Everywhere.

Harry licked it, not just a tiny bit, not just a sample. He dragged his tongue all the way over it.

Snape choked a little, interlaced their fingers, kissed Harry deep. Tongue brushed against his, the flavours mixed, it was a perfect haze.

“There’s only one thing more depraved than tasting myself in your mouth…” Severus moaned then thrust his tongue into wet heat and licked around.

“What?” Harry asked almost afraid of the answer.

“Coming inside you and then licking my own spunk from your arse.” Snape answered without shame.

“Fucking hell, Severus,” Harry hissed, his body stretching up on its own, wanting the images in his mind to be reality.

“Don’t be mistaken, Mr. Potter, I may appear well-mannered, but there is not a shred of decency in me. I probably imagined my cock stretching your tight little arse in more ways than physically possible.”

“You’re still too decent to actually fuck me in my dormitory, though.” Harry teased, his voice borderline disappointed.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Give me an hour and we can wake up Longbottom with your screams, if that’s what you want. Hell, they can fire me for all I care as long as I can be inside you _and_ traumatize that fumbling idiot in the meanwhile.” He smirked.

“Well then I’m afraid, me and my tight little arse will remain un-fucked for tonight, because I’d rather you not get fired,” Harry smiled.

“Then shut that dirty mouth of yours and go to sleep,” Severus suggested in a low voice before he added, “Besides, I intend to take my time with you for the first time. It won't be just a quick shag in the darkness, I can promise you that. I’ll make you beg for every inch, Potter, and let me tell you there are a lot of inches to beg for.”

Just as Harry was about to disregard his previous concern about Severus’ employment Ron came back, carefully opening the door at first and when he heard no objection, he stepped in. He said nothing just went to his bed, the scent of lavender and tobacco drifted after him.

“Appreciate it, Mr. Weasley.” Snape wanted to say, but got stuck half-way. His voice was hoarse and croaky, barely there as if he had just woken up from a coma.

There was only silence coming from Ron for a while, then he snorted. “Merlin’s balls, Harry, what have you done to the poor bloke.” He fell back to bed and said nothing else.

What indeed, Harry wondered. This was the same man who did not dare lie down next to him. And yet now, he climbed under Harry’s blanket like he was in his own bed, not in the bloody Gryffindor dormitory. Not that Harry had a single problem with that.

_Bloody hell, you._

How was Snape not scared? What gave him such bravery to do this? Or was it desperation? Was it both? How did he dare take such a leap? Did he trust his wings so much? Or did he trust Harry to fly after him if he fell?

Harry lifted his arm and Severus came, pressed to his side, laid his head on Harry’s chest. He came freely and nestled into the warmth, where he belonged.

Just what had they started?

o.O.o

A single digit pressed against his lips, signalling him to stay quiet. Harry opened his eyes. Severus was leaning over him. There was darkness everywhere still. This time, Harry was sure it was still the middle of the night. Ron and Neville were both snoring quietly.

Severus raised an eyebrow all but questioningly at Harry, his expression asking, ‘ _Any regrets?’_ Harry kissed the finger across his mouth, smiling. Severus pulled it away, seemed to linger for a moment, deciding how bad an idea it was, then he must have realized, bad ideas nowadays were as common as birds on the sky. He leaned in and closed the distance between them.

He kissed so gently. The stroke of his lips was soft as a touch of feathers. Black ink poured around them, like a second curtain, hiding them even from the sight of the crescent moon. Harry buried his fingers in it, didn’t tug, just caressed it. He felt the tip of Severus’ tongue brush against his lower lip, quenching his thirst, wetting his dry skin.

Tongues met in Harry’s mouth, danced, sneaked over crooked barricades just to dance again. Harry went with him, wherever Severus lead, Harry would follow. Teeth nibbled on his lip carefully worrying them, one by one, then pulling just a little as if Severus would want to take that with him, too – another piece.

Severus leaned up on his elbows, he motioned towards the door. Harry nodded, understanding. They both got up, as quiet as possible. Severus looked around the room as he fastened his shirt, fingers working on buttons fast like spiders on a web. When done dressing, he pulled his hand over his chest to straighten out the wrinkles. Harry smiled to himself. God forbid, someone would see him look _ruffled_ in Gryffindor Tower, in the boy’s dorm, during the dead of the night, when he would be out the window in just a minute.

Black wand flashed in the night, a canary yellow spell chased the darkness away momentarily as it swished across the room and hit Neville’s head. The boy grunted in his sleep, turned around, but never woke up, never seemed to be in pain either. Snape eyed Ron, too for a moment, his wand trained at his sleeping form under thick covers. He looked at Harry, letting him decide Ron’s fate. Harry shook his head no, then Severus lowered his arm.

Snape walked to door, the floorboards never creaked under him as if he would weight nothing, as if he would just glide in the air. Harry followed him, with a little more noise, then they went out, down the staircase, past several other doors leading to other bedrooms. The wand never disappeared from Severus’ hand, Harry suspected in case they met someone.

The Common Room was empty. Embers still glistened in the fireplace. It was cleaner now; house elves had done their job well. Not a single torn homework remained around.

Severus went to the window, opened it, breathed in the fresh air. He looked at Harry.

“You understand how dangerous this was?” He asked quietly. His tone wasn’t reproachful, but serious.

Harry nodded.

“You understand if someone finds out about this, _us_ , I am done for? My reputation is torn enough already, this would end my career.”

The word ‘us’ had warmth pooling in Harry’s stomach, but he just nodded.

“I will not be blamed for this. I did not seduce you. I did not trick you. I did everything in my power to resist you. This is your fault as much as mine. You are an adult, capable of making your own decisions, choices, _mistakes_. You understand that?”

Harry nodded again, the previous warmth gone already. His heart was clenching, aching. _Blame_? _Fault_? _Mistakes_?

“This did _not_ happen because of my magic. You understand? It happened because of us. You and me. Both of us. _We_ are the reason, _we_ are to blame. Not magic. Not just me. Not just you. _Us_.”

Harry nodded.

“Say it.”

_Pieces of you in me; pieces of me in you._ “Not just me. Not just you. Us.” Harry said. He swallowed hard.

Severus stepped up to him, buried his hand in Harry’s tousled hair. He pressed his forehead to Harry’s.

“You understand why this should never, _ever_ happen again?”

He understood, very much so. He understood the dangers, the risks, he understood what was at stake. Yet still, he didn’t want to let go. Not this. Not ever. But he made a decision regarding Severus once, a selfish one. He had destroyed the potion, not because that was the best for Snape, but because he wasn’t willing to let go. He could not always think so selfishly. It wasn’t his career at stake, his reputation, but Severus’. 

His heart was sore, burning like an open wound.

Eyes closing, he breathed out, “Yes.”

“Good,” said Snape, then Harry felt lips against his. Just one last kiss, a farewell, then Severus pulled back slightly, whispered, “I shall be back tomorrow night.”

Harry’s heart missed a beat. He grasped Severus’ arm before he would turn into a grackle. “What?”

“I told you, I cannot sleep without you.” Snape sighed, a long, deep breath in and out. “No, that is not true. I do not _want_ _to_ sleep without you.”

Arms sneaked around him and Harry was held in a firm embrace. Severus kissed Harry’s temple, pressed his lips against it as he said in a soft voice, “Falling has never felt so… _enticing_ ,” he had uttered the last word quiet and shuddering, as if it physically hurt him.

Then Snape turned into a bird and Harry’s arms fell back to his side as he watched the grackle swish out of the open window. His iridescent feathers reflected the light of the moon.

“Bloody hell, Snape,” Harry murmured as he went to the window and leaned on the sill, his gaze following the black bird until the darkness swallowed him. “You’re making me fall in love with you. You understand that? Because I sure as hell don’t…”


End file.
